Lianne's Holiday
by Lady Berenice
Summary: Princess Lianne of Conte takes a trip to the weird and wonderful lands east of Sarain. Sequel to 'Kalasin's betrothal', 'Queen Kalasin', and 'A Meeting of Magics'.
1. Sunlight and Frost

Lianne's Holiday

Disclaimers. Tamora Pierce's stuff is hers. A detailed disclaimer is available on my homepage, www.geocities.com/fhwon1   


_This story takes place, by Imperial reckoning, in the winter of the year 2820, approximately 6 months after the events of 'A Meeting of Magics' and the beginning of the 'Home at Last' section from Radanae Gavrillian's memoirs – which is posted on the Originals:Fantasy section under the name 'A Knight's Tales'._

_This story should be read either after, or in conjunction with the 'Kalasin' series – namely, 'Kalasin's Betrothal', 'Queen Kalasin', and 'A Meeting of Magics', and also with the Memoirs._

**Sunlight and Frost**

Even Princess Lianne of Conté was forced to admit that the grand dual celebrations that marked the second anniversary of the Empress Rislyn's investure and the first birthday of the Heir-Presumptive Ishtar made the Grand Midwinter Balls of Corus look like a village hop. 

The sprawling Imperial Palace complex glittered in the fastness of the winter night, the barest sprinkling of frost serving only to etch delicate traceries of white on the glass walls of the Empress's favourite ballroom. 

There had been no graceful way to decline the invitation, even though Lianne had been in the Imperial capital for barely two days. Empress Rislyn was family after all – her younger brother, King Yevgen of Sarain, was married to Lianne's older sister, Kalasin – and Lianne was representing her family and country in the Hub Of The World. 

Of course, the fact that Lianne's escort was a member of one of the most prominent Imperial noble families, close to the Diadem and the Delmaran Empresses who wore it, made the invitation triply difficult to ignore. 

She glanced across at her impassive escort. Sir Kelvar Gavrillian had a polite, almost detached look on his face, as though he had attended so many of these gatherings that they had become almost routine for him. Lianne knew that this was not precisely so – for she had gathered by now that the grand formal occasions of the Imperial Court were rarely attended by the children of noble families until they became knights and nobles in their own right. Kelvar was twenty-one, only three years into his majority. 

She looked around the rest of the vast room. Here and there she recognized a familiar face or two – those who had visited Tortall as members of diplomatic missions, a few who had been posted to Sarain, Lianne's mother's homeland, briefly part of the Empire, but now some sort of quasi-independent client-kingdom of dubious legal and tax status (that was Lianne's brother-in-law's exasperated analysis). 

It had never ceased to amaze Lianne that despite their sheer drive and, well, frankly, glamour, Imperial rulers weren't particularly…normal. She could understand regular monarchs. Her father, her ex-fiancé (now dead), her technical former husband (also dead). They were interested in conquest, in consolidation, in wars, in the gathering of wealth, the building of grand monuments and palaces. 

Imperial rulers built roads, founded schools, and actually seemed to _like_ paperwork. 

It was a bit bizarre. Lianne still found it slightly unnerving that her brother-in-law looked like a warrior-king out of legend, tall, blond, muscular, handsome and very athletic, with a fondness for sports and martial arts – and yet was fluent in several languages, wrote poetry, composed music, painted, and took to codifying a system of Saren law with an enthusiasm that left Lianne reeling. 

What was worse was that Yevgen positively egged Lianne's sister Kally into similar fits of madness. So far, in their reign of almost exactly three years, Sarain was booming, lowlanders and K'mir exchanged pleasantries without trying to kill each other, and everyone respected the rule of law. 

It was positively unnatural. 

But nobody thought it at all strange in the Empire. In their six months of travel, she had seen far odder things. She and Kelvar, together with a continually revolving escort, had taken the 'scenic' route eastwards from Sarain to the Imperial capital, Bersone. Now and again they were accompanied by other nobles, but they were usually there only fleetingly before parting ways to travel down different roads. 

Lianne did not ask why Kel had so much free time to spend as her tour guide and host. She knew. He had the Empress's consent – and, frankly, active encouragement, to play court to Lianne – not to mention the consent and active encouragement of Lianne's parents and the entire Council. 

The reasons were simple. The Council wanted even closer ties with the powerful Empire through the marriages of the two Tortallan princesses to Imperial royalty and high aristocracy. 

The Empress, who considered anything further west than several hundred miles _east_ of the Roof a barbarian backwater (though very politely), wanted closer ties between her family and the powerful Gavrillian House, without making it too obvious. 

Lianne caught a glimpse, however briefly, of other Gavrillians. Kelvar's sister, Radanae, a knight and diplomat, a close friend of Yevgen. She was introduced to the eldest Gavrillian child, Sir Rory, a large, affable, friendly man in his mid twenties, and his rather imperiously beautiful wife, Dama Selera. Lianne had already made the acquaintance of Kelvar's parents, General Dama Teleri Gavrillian and Senator Sir Amergin Petronil, who were polite, though a trifle distant. They treated their son more with the air of mentors or older friends than parents – a characteristic that Lianne found was quite common between adult children and their parents in her limited exposure to family relations in the Empire. 

Certainly she couldn't imagine any Tortallans using quite so much slang around their parents. Or their parents understanding it, for that matter.   
  
  


"Kelvar! What a wonderful surprise! Will you not do me the honour of introducing me to your most stunning companion?" 

The voice surprised Lianne, even though she had been to uncountable social events and met a veritable blur of new acquaintances. It was an extremely musical voice, rich and yet light, easy on the ear and yet with a grace and refinement that could not be disguised. A voice of sunshine and gold. 

When she took a look at who owned it, Lianne knew that this man would never be a blur. He greeted Kelvar with enthusiasm, the usual firm handshake between knights augmented with an elegant, brief hug and two quick kisses, one on each cheek, that Lianne had seen many knights exchange. Kel responded gracefully, though he was more restrained, and Lianne almost thought that she saw him stiffen slightly. 

He was probably in his mid twenties, and quite simply the most beautiful person she had ever seen, which was really saying something. Kel was handsome, of course, exotic, slightly dangerous, with a feline grace that belied his large frame. 

This man was different. Tall, but not overly so, blond, blue eyed, and, quite simply, perfectly proportioned of face and of body, and exquisitely dressed. Lianne had known many beauties – she was even considered one herself, though people had always compared her unfavourably with Kalasin – but this man simply outshone them all. Even the previous winner – Yevgen's lovely cousin Yelizabeta, paled in comparison. Lizzie's beauty, for all of the junior princess's own amiability, was one of chilly mathematical precision, overly perfect, overly refined. 

This man was different. He radiated warmth, friendliness. There was something about him that put Kally in mind of her brother-in-law – but not. Yevgen was handsome, certainly, extremely so – and Lianne had envied Kalasin far more than she would ever admit in regards of her husband – but he was, to use an old cliché, a pleasant little stream compared to a raging river. 

Yevgen was approachable. This man, with his exquisite perfection, seemed almost unworldly. 

"Ah," Kelvar cleared his throat, making Lianne embarrassingly aware that she was staring. "Your Highness, Princess Lianne of Conté, may I present Sir Vasilii Astenovsky. Vasilii, her Highness," 

Vasilli made a bow that could only be described as poetry in motion. "An honour and a delight, lady. I shall treasure this moment for the rest of my days."   
  


"The Astenovskys are unusual among the Fifty," Radanae's crystal-clear voice read the curiosity in Lianne's eyes when the two women met at the refreshments table. Kel had been most reluctantly pulled away by some of his year-mates who were yearning to hear of news and begging introductions. 

Lianne tilted her head slightly, wanting elaboration. 

"The Fifty are a collective name for the …for want of a better word…richest and most powerful knightly Houses," Radanae explained. "Actually, it's closer to about sixty-seven, but that doesn't sound as neat. They can be identified because they are the ones who occupy their own boxes in the Great Arena, though, to be honest, most of us don't really use them and end up lending them out to charity groups and schools who want to watch the shows. The Astenovskys are the only patrilineal House in the Fifty, and only one of a handful among the thousands of families that regularly produce knights." 

"Patrilineal?" Lianne had a feeling that she really ought to know what it meant. 

"They count their descent through the father's line, like you of the Eastern Lands," Radanae explained, "It's quite unusual here. The children take their father's name and join the House – and, since it's comparatively rare for the Fifty to intermarry – though it does happen – the women don't usually make an issue of it because it can be argued as a matter of precedence. The famous looks don't hurt either," Radanae grinned. "The matter of precedence means that the girls can follow more conventional ways too, so Astenovsky is quite a large House, as far as numbers are concerned." 

"What happens when they do marry into one of the more…conventional…families?" Lianne asked, curious. 

Radanae's smile grew a little wider. Lianne noted with a touch of surprise that the older woman was wearing lipstick. It was certainly not something she expected from a knight, even a technically desk-bound one like Radanae. "They argue precedence. Though occasionally, they do lose, and the children take their mother's name. It happened last generation." She inclined her head towards the Empress herself, barely visible at the far end of the room. "But no House can really take precedence over the Delmarans." 

Lianne blinked a few times, realizing where the slight edge of familiarity had come from. 

"Yevgen and Kay both have the Astenovsky look from their father," Radanae confirmed, "but Kay didn't get the personality. But Yevgen is, according to most recollections, an almost sensible version of Sir Jesal."   
  


"_Must_ you do that?" Kay glowered at her cousin. 

"Do what?" Vasilli had an expression of pure innocence on his face. The combination of his angelic features and superbly honed acting skills made it seem totally convincing. 

"You _know_, Vaschya," she said in an exasperated tone, rolling her eyes. The two cousins stood a little way apart from the main celebrations, for similar reasons. Vaschya was always a superb catch for anyone wanting later entertainment, his reputation for fastidiousness combined with his looks and charm making him well-nigh irresistible for the sort of casual flings preferred, and to some extent, encouraged among young knights. Even though Kay would not be expected to make a permanent pairing with anyone (especially a male, with the potential for children) for many years yet, a beautiful princess will always find her dance-card full and that plenty of people will bring her refreshments and offer to keep her company. "I don't think Lianne would understand the subtleties of the greeting in any case." 

"She'll learn," Vaschya responded cryptically, "what good is travelling when you understand all the natives? Besides," he gave a wry grin, "it unsettles Kel Gavrillian." 

"Oh?" Kay raised her eyebrow – in everything but looks, she was pure Delmaran. "How odd. Surely…but weren't you two well…" even the famously blunt military commander didn't actually say it out loud in the confines of the party, but the movement of her hands, as unequivocal as they were economical, made her point clear. 

"When he was in the Swords and we were going undercover to expose that slave-ring as two bitter, resentful pretty-boys thrown out into the street by our erstwhile patrons for growing up?" 

"Something like that," Kay confessed. "I had my doubts, considering the lengths you go to _not_ to do that sort of thing unless there's either no choice or the decision is completely unrelated to the matter at hand. Like my brother, in a way, unable to separate sex from love. Such a pity. But still…" 

"Everyone thinks we were lovers?" Vaschya leaned back against the pillar, "that was the point, cousin of mine, but it's so tedious doing it with someone you really don't care for in that way. Kelvar is a very nice boy, but overall, he's a man for women, and that's his choice. Just because you and I like to hedge our bets doesn't mean that everyone else does. But in answer to your question, no, Kel and I never actually did anything beyond a few very public kisses and cuddles, and making it clear that we were sharing a room with only one bed, but I daresay nobody else knows that." He stopped, the smile on his face making him even more handsome. "Not even Kel." 

Kay opened her mouth, then shut it quickly, for once lost for words. "_Vaschya_…" she said warningly. 

"Oh come _on_, Nicky," he said teasingly, knowing she hated the alternative diminutive for her name, "forced leave is _so_ boring, and it won't do any real harm. Besides, it'll be fun locking wits with the Gavrillians again – I need a good challenge, and after Radanae and Kelvar – never mind the General or the Senator or Rory – even the most sly, slimy and seditious sycophant is going to be a breeze."   
  


_Notes:_

_Just to make it clear, most families in the Empire trace descent through the mother's line. The Astenovskys are highly unusual, and in that I've tried to hint that they're the descendants of an independent royal line that was conquered by the Empire somewhat later than the most of the other nobles. Imperial policy is, whenever possible, to leave the general social structure of a new province in place, and absorb the ruling class into the aristocracy._

_Yes, I am aware that I described Yevgen as only 'conventionally good-looking' in 'Kalasin's Betrothal'. He's getting more impressive with maturity._

_Okay, for those old enough, guess who the only Imperial character in the series who hasn't experimented with their own gender is._

_First correct answer has the option of taking up a cameo as_

_1) Casual one-night stand of unattached character of their choice_   
_2) Ex-on-friendly-terms with character of their choice_   
_3) Underworked valet/private secretary to character of their choice (most of them are pretty self-sufficent)_   
_4) ?????????_   
  



	2. New Surroundings

New Surroundings

__

_The answer, for those who are interested, is Yevgen. Congratulations to purpleblue34, who responded first. She makes her appearance as Fiann, one of the knights' former classmates from the Imperial University.___

_I've swiped a bit of dialogue from Tamora Pierce in this bit._   


Kelvar and Lianne were staying in the large apartment kept by the Gavrillian family in the Imperial Palace itself, so it was not a long journey back to their rooms after the function, despite the size of the Palace complex. 

The Gavrillian apartment was larger than a good many houses, with formal and informal entertaining areas, several large bedrooms, sleeping alcoves for personal servants, small library/study, and even its own kitchen and bathroom. Lianne had originally felt uneasy about sharing the accommodations with the Gavrillian family, much as she liked the two members that she had already met, with all their inevitable curiosity about her ambiguous relationship with the younger son, but she soon realised that the other four members of the family did not use the apartment in the Palace as anything more than a glorified changing room. 

The town mansion of the Gavrillian House, where Kelvar's parents lived when they were in the capital, was easily the size of most ducal manor houses in Tortall, and probably not much smaller than the Royal Palace in Corus itself. Rory and Selera apparently had their own house, as did Radanae. Lianne and Kelvar had made an obligatory visit to the Gavrillian mansion for dinner on their first day in Bersone, and it was there that she had met his parents. 

She hadn't known quite what to expect. While Kel had never avoided her questions about his family, and answered them honestly, he had not volunteered any information about them either. She knew that his mother was a famous military commander, a General who had in the course of her career governed provinces that were larger than several of the Eastern Lands combined. General Dama Teleri Gavrillian. When she had asked members of their ever-changing escort about Kel's mother, the replies had ranged from wary respect to awed worship. Apparently, she had also been close friends with the previous Empress Vanaria, who Lianne supposed was some sort of relative by marriage, as her sister's mother-in-law. Kelvar's father, Senator Sir Amergin Petronil, was a famed warrior and former military strategist, and now, like his wife, a powerful political operator, a trusted adviser and confidant to the Empress. She'd had a vague picture in her mind of a pair of animated granite heroic sculptures, tall, muscled and disapproving, demanding, and getting, absolute perfection from their children and subordinates. Forceful and blunt, they would interrogate her ruthlessly regarding her intentions towards their youngest child, and find her sadly wanting. Judging from the looks of Radanae and Kel, Lianne supposed that they would be a handsome pair, strong featured, with piercing eyes. 

She was right about the height, the muscles, and the eyes. Both the General and the Senator were over six feet tall, and still looked as though they were perfectly capable of scaling up the walls of a fortified castle in full armour using only their hands… but for the rest of it… 

Famous Generals weren't _supposed _to wear pearls. Or rose pink floor length dresses with soft kidskin slippers dyed to match. They weren't _supposed_ to drape cream cashmere shawls with crystal-beaded trim around their shoulders either, and, for that matter, ex-warriors and famed military strategists weren't supposed to go around kitted out in comfortable robes of soft blue-grey wool. They weren't supposed to have grey threads through dark hair, or crows' feet when they smiled, and nor were either of them to go around apparently completely unarmed.   
  
In other words, they weren't supposed to look like somebody's parents. They were perfectly friendly, and inquired about their journey and the sights, asked if Lianne was enjoying her time in the Empire, admonished Kel for taking her (or not taking her, as the case might be) to certain sights, queried as to whether they had been eating property, or whether they had stayed at this guest house or that, whether Kel had remembered to call in and give his regards to so-and-so, or if they had remembered to check on such-and-such, in general, behaved in a perfectly…_ordinary_ fashion. Lianne had to blink once or twice at the easy…almost unparent-like relationship they had with their children. Sometimes it was as though they were older siblings, mentors, or friends rather than parents. 

It was quite offputting. Even more so when it was readily apparent that both Teleri and Amergin (names that they insisted that Lianne used, no matter that the Princess balked at being on such familiar terms with them), knew a great deal more about Tortall and the Eastern and Southern Lands without ever going there than Lianne knew about the Empire even after six months travelling through its western sectors. Lianne admonished herself for being surprised at such thoughts – after all, they were both close to the Empress, privy to intelligence reports – and, most tellingly, their daughter was, despite protestations, a spy. 

Well, not even Kelvar had so much as attempted to hide that. 

Dinner was…perfectly ordinary, if one discounted the magnificent house, perfectly and elegantly decorated, well designed and functional, and the marvellous food. It was almost easy to imagine that this was the villa of any stupendously wealthy family, with its rich drapes, soft carpets, intricate mosaic and wood floors. But here and there, Lianne could see touches that indicated the nature of the family that she was so slowly joining. Endless corridors lined with the armour of centuries of knights. A veritable armoury of priceless historical weaponry on the walls. War banners, shields, and flags hung from the high ceilings, battalions worth, each so well cared for that it was difficult to distinguish those of a honoured ancestor, and those of their defeated foe. There were portraits, and sculptures of more notable members of the family, not in the stiff, stylised poses that were still fashionable in Tortall, but ones that had shown them as they really were. A famous cavalry commander, standing at the gate of the horse paddock. A distinguished scholar sprawled over a chair with a cup of tea and a novel. 

And Kelvar had let slip that these were only a small portion of the family collection, the bulk being held at the House seat to the south-east, where the ancestors of the Gavrillians had once reigned as absolute monarchs. 

It had given Lianne much food for thought. Previously, she would have said that the more she knew about the families of prospective suitors, the better – but now she was rapidly becoming aware that there was such a thing as too much information. 

The flair for understatement, if it could be called that, extended to the spacious apartment. It was a slightly jarring effect, the first time Lianne had crossed the threshold, from the exquisite, but chilly marble-mosaic floors that characterised the Imperial Palace, to the warm woods and soft rugs favoured by this particular family. The walls were lined with wood, not stone, and the subtle art features were of bronze and wood rather than marble. 

She was shown into what was very obviously a 'spare' bedroom, decorated in subtle, sophisticated tones of grey and taupe, only very sparingly accented with deep flashes of colour. Her luggage had already been unpacked, some of her clothes neatly put away, some others whisked away for cleaning and ironing, her cosmetics and brushes neatly laid out on the dressing table. 

It was odd, to get used to having servants again. She had rebelled utterly against taking so much as a maid on this journey, not wanting any reminders of her previous life. After all, she had reasoned, she had never seen any of the Imperial knights trail maids around to press their clothes and braid their hair, why should she be any less self-sufficient? She had managed well enough as a child. 

Not that any knights other than the Delmaran women had hair long enough to braid, in any case. 

Their journey had been quite luxurious, at any rate. They stopped at fine inns, where the chambermaids and housemaids were well versed in their duties. They stayed in lovely private homes, where the maids would battle for the privilege of attending an exotic foreign princess. Lianne had rarely felt the lack, and revelled in the freedom. She felt that just a little bit of her was like a female knight – though she had never had the dream, the way Kalasin had – the dream that her sister had achieved – to be just a tiny bit self-sufficient, not to be like a proper Tortallan lady, unable to so much as function without her faithful maidservant. 

For crying out loud, even Lady Keladry of Mindelan had kept a maid for a little while. None of the Imperial knights – not even Princess Berenice – kept maids or valets, with the exception of Lianne's brother-in-law, but he was a King first and foremost – which was why, on the morning after the celebrations, Lianne was so surprised to see a young man dressed in Gavrillian livery setting up breakfast in one of the informal common areas. 

Until now, they had been attended to by the Palace servants, who were efficient, noiseless, and well-nigh invisible. Lianne had been almost certain that the little sleeping alcoves were not for personal servants, but rather for unexpected additional guests. 

This young man, though he was efficient and practised in his duty, made no special attempt to be quiet, as he straightened barely-visible creases on the tablecloth, laid the cutlery just so, and made sure that the covered dishes and toast racks were in easy reach of both places at the table. 

He looked up as Lianne entered, and moved away from the table slightly to bow. 

"Good morning, ma'am," he said with a broad smile. "I'm just finishing up." He indicated the table. "We've wild mushroom omelettes, ricotta pancakes with an apple and cinnamon filling, muffins, scones, toast, and of course here's the tea, the coffee, and the fruit juice." 

Kalasin had warned Lianne that Imperials took their food _very_ seriously, especially breakfast. Lianne thought it was a measure of how used she was starting to become to the culture that she only thanked the young man politely for his efforts in setting up, and did not gape at the seemingly huge spread. She knew that between Kelvar and herself, most of the food would be polished off. Lianne had a sneaking suspicion that only the hard riding and rigours of travel had prevented her weight from ballooning. 

Almost in answer to her thought, Kelvar came in the door, and hesitated slightly before greeting the young man with a genuine smile – more genuine, Lianne thought, than when he had greeted Sir Vasilli Astenovsky the previous evening. 

"Oh, Lianne, may I introduce Dellan Arunidantie, who takes care of my affairs while I'm away. Dellan, her Royal Highness Princess Lianne of Conté, Queen Dowager of Scanra." 

Dellan bowed again, deeper this time, and held a chair for Lianne, waiting for her to be seated, before turning back to Kelvar and reaching for a folder he had left to one side of the breakfast table. "Now that you're here, sir, there are a few things that need your most urgent attention. Firstly, your new yacht." 

"I don't _have_ a yacht." Kelvar frowned. 

"You will by spring," Dellan replied. It was clear that there was a good deal of informality between employer and employee. Lianne supposed that Dellan must be some sort of general man-of-affairs, sort of secretary, valet, personal assistant, agent, all rolled into one. "What, honestly, _did_ you think you were doing, buying a harbourside place with a berth, if you didn't think you'd get one eventually? At any rate, Rory and Radanae are buying you one for your birthday. They _each_ wanted to get it for you, but then agreed that they'd just pool and get a better one. They want you to pick out a colour scheme." Dellan handed the folder over. "And there's some bank drafts waiting for your signature, and the final sign-offs for that place in the country that the Lord and Lady bought you for your last birthday – by the way, don't bother getting a new horse for a while, even if you could bear to part with that monster of yours - they're giving you another stallion and a couple of mares for this one to start your herd." 

Dellan took a step backwards towards the trolley he had used to wheel breakfast in, and bowed, briefly, again. Lianne blinked a little at the reversion to ceremony. 

Somehow, during that blink, Dellan had disappeared out the door, breakfast trolley and all.   
  


"Have I told you how much I _love_ your office?" 

'Love' was not a term that Dama Radanae Gavrillian of the Imperial Diplomatic Service had ever associated with the workplace. It was very unprofessional. It was not as though it was a particularly special little room, after all, just a rectangular box with a window (with a view of the next building) at one end, a door to the corridor at the other, and bookshelves lining the walls connecting the two. It held a large desk, some filing cabinets, four chairs, a drinks cabinet, a brazier and some very expensive artwork. Other than that, it was nothing more than one of hundreds of similar little burrows found in the administrative quarters of every society that deems itself a civilisation. 

The knight turned to her visitor with raised eyebrow. "You _really_ don't get out enough," she said in a light tone, handing the other woman a mug of hot tea. "Then again, when you've only had those cramped little broom cupboards…" 

The woman snorted. "The only reason they don't keep brooms in there is because the cleaning staff would complain. You don't have to move your shelves to open the door. You _have_ shelves. You have a _door_." 

Radanae tsked. "You knew what you were getting into, Fiann," she said, in a mock-chiding voice. "If you wanted accommodations that complied with occupational health and safety guidelines you should have left the University when the rest of us did. Now it's too late, and they're keeping you trapped in there forever." 

Fiann made a noise that could really have meant anything, but came across primarily as impatience. "Firstly, you haven't technically left, since you haven't handed in your doctoral thesis yet. Secondly, I didn't come here to make unfair comparisons between your workplace and mine. Happy Birthday, grouch," she handed over the wrapped box that she had been holding under her arm. "Sorry I couldn't make it to your party." 

"I didn't _have_ a party," Radanae took the box with thanks but then gave it the sort of wary look that any girl who has friends with distinctly odd senses of humour learns very quickly. Apparently sensing that there was nothing inherently dangerous about the package, she carefully untied the ribbon and lifted up the lid to reveal… 

A brightly coloured beach towel, a bottle of tanning oil, and a jar of sunburn salve. 

"Well, being born in the middle of the blizzard season, I'd have thought you got more than your fair share of scarves and such for birthdays," Fiann shrugged. "Even if you don't get a chance to go down to Birodis for the surfing this summer, the salve will be useful when you go skiing." 

"I haven't been surfing for the last two years because of those wretched barbarians of Yevgen's," Radanae groused, but then remembered her manners, "thanks very much Fiann. I can truly say that they're as appreciated as they were unexpected." 

"How is Yevgen, anyway?" Fiann asked. Though not a knight herself, she'd been in several of the same classes as those knight-cadets who chose to take subjects at the University. Having entered the University several years before the usual age of eighteen, she had associated mainly with the knight-cadets, who were closer to her age than the other undergraduates, as most cadets tried to get their degrees before graduation from the Knights' Academy. 

"Pretty much as he always is," Radanae folded the towel up neatly and put it back into the box. 

"Isn't that his wife's sister staying with your brother at the moment?" Fiann probed. Junior academics, no matter how well-qualified, rarely managed to get the same social invitations as first-ranked members of a powerful House, former classmates or not. 

"Yes, Lianne," Radanae replied absently. "Younger sister. Nice girl." 

"Yes, that's what Vaschya said." 

"Vaschya?" 

"Vasilii Astenovsky, as you very well know, Radanae," Fiann admonished. "I don't know what it is you have against him." 

"Other than being a poncy pretentious poser who goes around creating enormous messes and piles of paperwork for other people, namely me, to clean up? I don't particularly care about his magnificent record – or the charm – or the looks – I care that he manages to swan around making everyone think he's magnificent for solving all the Empire's problems and ferreting out every hint of sedition while I'm left covering his arrogant little posterior when he stuffs up!" 

"He's also pulled off some fairly spectacular breakthroughs," Fiann reminded the knight unnecessarily. Being an academic does not mean that one is completely oblivious to the outside world. "He does spend half his time in the infirmary with some pretty horrific injuries suffered in the line of duty. He has had to do some seriously unpleasant things – and had some seriously unpleasant things done to him. Whatever else he is, he's good at what his job." 

"Yes. Very much so." The words came out reluctantly. "I suppose I envy him, just a little bit, for being able to go on so many field missions, when I'm stuck behind here drafting treaties and occasionally going to very dull parties. I think that's why I kept jumping at all the chances to travel west. Don't mind me, Fiann, I'm just having a most unchivalrous spurt of jealously over Vaschya's complete disregard for procedural formalities." 

"But is it really that, 'Danae'?" Fiann said seriously, "or is it because he and Saro used to live together?"   


_Notes:___

_The Gavrillians traditionally have a slightly Middle Eastern/Central Asian look All the kids take after Teleri more. For the curious, Amergin looks as though he comes from northern India – I imagine he came pretty close to resembling a Bollywood matinee idol when he was younger (sorry, can't spell any names). The boys had to get their looks from somewhere (if you haven't read the 'Kalasin' series, both Rory and Kelvar are drop-dead gorgeous. For those who have been wondering, and don't know what Saira Shah (Radanae's real-life counterpart) looks like, Radanae's not pretty, as such. She's handsome and elegant, has a face full of character and intelligence, and projects a great deal of life and vitality, but no-one sober and honest would ever describe her as 'beautiful'.)___

_Yes, Imperials use 'living together' as a euphemism for 'not-actually-but-to-all-intents-and-purposes-married' too. Same-sex couples can't marry, but it's not the issue there as it is in some societies here, simply because not that many different-sex couples officially marry either.___

_For anyone familiar with Australian geography and real estate, Kelvar has a place on the Bersone answer to Darling Harbour in Sydney. For those who aren't basically, we're talking about a seriously nice apartment that is extremely expensive, near the city, and with fantastic views.___

_For anyone who hasn't read 'A Meeting of Magics', Saro, or Lieutenant Sarozi d'Arherindianius von Bresumarev is Radanae's semi-official on-again, off-again (mainly off) boyfriend.___

_Yes, Radanae surfs. It's a reasonably common hobby for a knight. Other popular hobbies include abseiling, rockclimbing, skiing, snowboarding, and astronomy._   
__   
__   
__


	3. Guided Tour

A Guided Tour

Her curiosity piqued, it was not difficult for Lianne to convince Kelvar to show her the mysterious harbourside property that Dellan had mentioned. When Kelvar has asked her if there were any other places in the capital that she would like to visit, she immediately requested a glance at the Knights Academy, of which she had heard so much. 

Kelvar agreed to both. 

There was just enough snow on the streets – though they had been cleared early in the morning – to make it too slippery for a wheeled carriage, and yet there was not enough snow for a sleigh, so they rode. 

It was early enough in the morning – and besides, no matter that Midwinter was no special time for the Imperials the way that it was in Tortall and the Eastern Lands (Lianne had learned that the Imperials favoured summer for their celebrations – for the turning of the year, for knightings, for gift-giving, and feasting) – no one was going to like being up and about on such a chilly, frosty morning. 

It was not a long journey – the Imperial capital, Bersone, was built around a vast, deep bay that was almost perfectly circular, with only a narrow passage, carved out of solid rock, for ships to pass in from the open sea. Almost directly opposite the gap, jutting out into the water, was the rock peninsular of the New Imperial Palace, the seat of the most powerful Empire in the known world. 

That being said, most of the administrative offices, the City proper, and such were actually a little way further inland, on the mainland itself. The peninsular was exclusively dedicated to the Imperial Palace, standing at once apart from, and yet guarding the Imperial capital. 

The colloquial term, though one that the people used with much affection, for the Delmaran Peninsular where the Palace was situated was the 'tonsil', which perfectly described its shape, which meant that the Bay of Bersone was, naturally enough, the 'mouth' of the Empire. 

It was an analogy in more than describing the shape, though, for wealth and goods flowed into the capital, but, as most distant folk were heard to remark, nothing but words and waste came out. That was not entirely true – for even though the land around Bersone was far too valuable for agriculture or common industry, it was a city of culture, of craftsmen, of artisans, of knowledge. The finest goods found anywhere in the Empire were made in Bersone, products of generations of migrants come for a life in the big city – and a big city where wealth changed hands easily. A city where fine trinkets went for fortunes, where appearances were all-important and the art of gift-giving was practiced in great earnest. Bersone, they said, was the marketplace of the world, where one could buy anything, and sell anything that was worth buying or selling. 

It was also a city of great life, of learning, where the oldest and grandest schools and the most prestigious University were located, where the theatre and dance companies kept their bases and their training schools, where each religion that hoped to be held to some account kept at least a little shrine in the Blessed Way. 

Bersone was the Hub of the World. A city that changed from minute to minute, never mind each day.   


It was a surprisingly short while later that Lianne had to blink as Kelvar slowed Brunellus to a walk, and dismounted in front of a large building of ochre stone. They were standing on a very broad, paved road, and on the other side of the road was a sturdily built promenade, and beyond that the vast blueness of the bay. Lianne saw the berths that Dellan had referred to, stretching out into the water, innumerable craft tied up neatly and securely, waiting for the warm days of summer and relaxing afternoons in the sun. It was clearly an area dripping with wealth, for, even though Lianne was not at all nautical, it was clear to her that all the boats were pleasure-craft, intended for nothing more vigorous than a spirited sailing race around the bay. All the buildings around the water were grand, and those facing the water had huge windows of clear glass that she fancied must have cost as much as a small peasant village. 

"It's the recreational harbour," Kelvar said, in answer to her question. "It used to be the trading docks…long ago. Then, ships got larger, the loads got larger, and land values went up too high for this place to be valuable as a shipyard. The real harbour is on the other side of the Palace, towards the west, where the views aren't quite so grand and the water is deeper. My place is on the third floor," someone came and took their horses, leading them around the grand ochre building, presumably to stables around the back, where there was no view of the water sparkling in the blue-grey of the early morning. 

The entrance was as grand as any great house, and the stairs, quiet this morning, were as broad. There was no elaborate ornamentation, no intricate mouldings, no filigree ironwork, but everything in the house spoke of excellent craftsmanship and restrained good taste. 

They reached the third floor, and then Kelvar led her down the corridor to a plain door that held no distinguishing features save a bronze knocker that depicted a wolf's head. Kel caught her looking at it as he unlocked the door. "Family crest," he explained, as he nudged the door open. 

Inside was paradise. Not a word that is often used to describe a bachelor's apartment, but perhaps one that is accurate when said bachelor has a rather large bank account, and the sense to hire a very meticulous man-of-affairs. It was the perfect retreat for a young man, whether he wanted food, or rest, or fun with friends. Lianne looked around with delight. There was a small kitchen, barely more than a place to rest dishes and to store drinks, a vast common area, with luxuriously upholstered low couches, and huge floor cushions, scattered with low tables. Bookshelves and art lined the walls, and she could see a small, but well appointed personal bathroom through a half-open door, even though they had walked past a fully equipped bathhouse, complete with steam-room and laundry on the ground floor. 

"This is lovely," she declared. "Why…" 

"Why didn't I ask you to stay here with me?" Kel completed her question. "Yes, I do like this a great deal more than the Palace apartment, but, as you'll notice, Lianne, this isn't a place that I have…ah…guests…often…" 

Lianne opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, but shut it just as quickly, as she had another look around. There was a small bedroom, just visible down the same short corridor that held the bathroom, but on the other side, so that it had a view of the water, but it was clearly occupied by Dellan. The only other sleeping place in the whole apartment was equally clearly Kel's, a sort of mezzanine area that appeared to be suspended from the ceiling by silver wire, and accessed up a flight of stairs. She could see it if she craned her neck, the vast bed with fluffy, springy pillows she longed to sprawl across, crisply ironed linens, the warm cashmere blankets… 

No, there was definitely no room for long-term overnight visitors of the platonic type, and even after months of travel, Lianne still was reluctant to think about the other...   
  


The gates of the Knights' Academy loomed. There was no other word for it. Lianne couldn't help but stifle a gulp as the passed under the grey-stone archway that lead to the entrance courtyard, earning herself a slightly amused glance from Kelvar. 

She ignored him, and swung off her horse without any help. 

Kelvar had told her that the Academy was, in fact, the Old Imperial Palace, built centuries before, though meticulously maintained, and bore all the hallmarks of a rather haphazard approach to aesthetic design. 

They had dismounted in a large courtyard, the type imagined for victory parades and speeches by overdressed idiots with high opinions of themselves. Lianne could almost imagine the neat lines of troops in bronze breastplates and fur-trimmed uniforms, standing to bored attention. 

But now, it was empty, all save for a plain pillar of stone in the middle of the courtyard, plain rock jutting up from the smooth cobblestones. It had clearly been swept of the light snow that had fallen overnight. There was nothing on it save two bowls, one of which contained dancing red flames. Kel walked over to it as soon as their horses were seen to. 

Lianne watched, curious, as he stood before the pillar, clearly contemplating something. Thinking. If she hadn't known that Imperial were pretty much atheists, she would have sworn that he was praying. 

Whatever she thought he was doing, she certainly did not expect his next move. 

Slowly, with the sort of studied grace she always associated with religious ritual, he slowly drew the small, narrow-bladed dagger he wore and the small of his back, and then dipped in the bowl without the flame – which evidently contained some sort of liquid that did not freeze in the chill – and then pass it through the fire. 

Blue flickers of flame danced on the silver blade. Kel watched them die down before carefully running the dagger along the pad of the middle finger on his right hand, drawing blood. 

Lianne watched, fascinated, as he held his hand over the pillar, letting exactly three drops of blood fall upon it before reaching for a handkerchief to clean both the dagger and his finger. 

"I thought knights weren't religious," she said, after they had walked a few steps in silence. 

"We're not. At least, not in the way that you would consider it so," Kelvar said. "It's…well…it's hard to say…it's not connected to any god or goddess as such…it's more of a…a…" 

"Ceremony?" Lianne supplied. 

Kel tilted his head to one side. "Not exactly. A remembrance, I think, would be the better word. It's…well…it's so we remember our purpose, I suppose." 

Lianne put what she hoped was a questioning expression on her face. 

"If we've been away from the capital, and we've not spilled blood since the last time we were on the Academy grounds, we leave a little of our own upon the stone. To remember that we're knights, and whatever other duties we may take, first and foremost, we are warriors, and death is the legacy that we bring. To some of us, it's also an expression of hope, that the drops of our own blood are all that we spill until next we come to stand in the Academy grounds once more." 

Lianne had to ask the question. "When were you last here?" 

"About seven or eight months ago. Just before I left for Tortall, actually." 

They walked on in companionable silence for some time. "Was there anything in particular that you'd like to see?" Kelvar asked. "The cadets have a few days break around winter, so the Academy is pretty much open for inspection." 

Lianne had thought that it was suspiciously quiet. They had not seen anyone other than the grooms who had taken their horses, though now she could hear approaching footsteps. 

They saw the woman before she could see them – hardly surprising, as she was currently engaged in trying to balance a pile of papers under one arm, and several kept flying out. She looked very vaguely familiar, but Lianne could not place her – she should have remembered such a face, after all – very delicate, almost fragile in its beauty, with fine bones, and perfect skin, and the most amazing pair of amber eyes, crowned with dark auburn hair that was only a shade and trick of the light away from black. 

Kelvar evidently knew who she was though, for he stepped forward to greet her with a smile. "Lara! What are you doing here?" 

"Teaching." There was a twist of the rosebud lips. "Kay will be in the capital for a few months, and there was no sense in us wasting our time. Justinia's on unarmed combat, I'm on additional mathematics and physics tuition, and Rose is doing something completely incomprehensible with invisible inks and such." She caught Lianne's eye, and bowed, "Your Highness. I hope you're enjoying your time in Bersone." 

"I am, thank you," Lianne stammered, still having no idea who the woman was – even though she recognised the nickname of Kalasin's sister-in-law, Princess Berenice – always called Kay – who was Yevgen's sister, and Empress Rislyn's Heir, since Ishtar – Lianne had trouble remembering Ishtar wasn't a princess yet – was still so young. Justinia was a massive, muscular woman who functioned as Kay's aide, and Rose was Kay's secretary – but that still left this very beautiful young woman a complete mystery. 

"Well, if you will excuse my rudeness, I _must_ run," Lara bowed again, "Perhaps I shall see you at the Senate functions?" she didn't wait for a reply before rushing off. 

"Who was that?" Lianne asked quietly, as soon as Lara was out of earshot. 

Kel looked slightly surprised. "That? I'm sure you've met. Dama Felara Eriel. She's one of Princess Berenice's top aides." 

Lianne shook her head. "No, I don't think so – I've met Dama Justinia Ferox, but nobody has said that Kay had another aide…" 

"Oh," Kelvar blinked, "Of course not," he muttered under his breath. "Don't worry, I'm a fool. Of course you've not met her. You've always visited when Yevgen and Kalasin are around before." 

"Excuse me?" Lianne asked, perplexed, "What have Yevgen and Kalasin to do with it?" 

Kelvar looked reluctant to say. "Lara isn't around Yevgen or your sister any more than she can possibly avoid." 

"Why not?" Lianne persisted. "Does she not like Yevgen or something?" 

"Not exactly." Kelvar still looked as though he wanted to change to subject. "Quite the opposite, in fact. You see, she and Yevgen used to live together – well, when they were both in the same place at the same time. For a little while, both the Empress and the House of Eriel were toying with a betrothal between them when they got old enough. And then…" 

"...my sister." Lianne finished. How could she be such a fool? Kally had told her – but there had been no names, and Lianne had been so convinced that such a past crush was irrelevant, given the way that Yevgen worshipped the very air that Lianne's sister breathed. But seeing Lara, Lianne could very well understand Kalasin's misgivings. 

Her brother-in-law had exceptionally good taste. 

"I see…" Lianne began, then curious, began to prod. "How long?" she asked. 

"Three and a half, four years, or thereabouts," Kel answered tightly, "then…I don't know the details…I don't know Yevgen all that well, you see, and my sister doesn't talk about this very often. Lara was away – some fairly awful province where the work is tough but the promotions fast. He was here, in between assignments, or so we thought. He'd just come back from the west, so we thought he was about to be sent off to govern Sarain – which was pretty accurate – but we didn't expect…ahem…" 

"…for there to be an arrangement with Tortall," Lianne finished. 

"Exactly. At any rate, one afternoon, the Empress – Empress Vanaria, the previous one – calls him into her office – and then…" 

"What?" 

"Nothing. I mean that. It was my final year at the Academy so I wasn't up with the news in any case. There was absolutely nothing. Which meant, of course, that they'd been a huge row with his mother, and he'd been locked up, or at least confined to quarters. The party left for Tortall without him – that was Radanae and Justinia, and the first embassy there. A little while later, Rislyn and Kay came back into the capital, and they both went in to talk to him…and he came out, and he and Kay left for Sarain." 

"There's something else, isn't there?" Lianne probed. 

"Oh, it's probably nothing of importance," Kel tried to shy away from the topic. 

"No, it's not," Lianne challenged. "It's something about my brother-in-law, isn't it?" 

Kel looked reluctant. "Well…yes…in a manner of speaking. What I was going to say was that your sister certainly should not have any misgivings about Lara – because the thing in his Highness which she liked simply isn't _there_ anymore." 

"Excuse me?" To Lianne, Yevgen had seemed near perfect – of course, considering that she was comparing him against her own marriage prospects, he probably was. 

"Mind, I wasn't close to him before, and scarcely more now – and my sister and her friends won't talk about this – but after he came out again and went to Sarain – he was different. Oh, no, it wasn't a change in personality – a part of him – the serious, intellectual, responsible part – has always been the way he is now. It was the other part of him – for want of a better word – the prankster, the brat – the part of him that was simply him, not a prince, not a knight – that was gone. You know how, every once in a while he'll come up with a particularly cutting quip about someone?" 

Lianne had heard a lot of Yevgen's witty remarks about Barnesh, so she nodded. The little asides were rare, but they were very, very true. 

"He used to be a lot more like that. My sister's opinion is that he's simply grown up – but then again, you know my sister. She's twenty-four going on sixty." 

Lianne had to hide a smile at that – it was sometimes difficult to believe that Radanae wasn't all that much older than Lianne herself. If the diplomat had a sense of humour it was either very strange or buried extremely deep. Probably both. 

But Kel's opinion on the King of Sarain was certainly very interesting. Lianne couldn't tell if it had any ramifications in regards to Kalasin, but it was certainly a point that bore further thinking on. 

Nobody challenged them as they walked through the near-deserted corridors – though Lianne knew that was due to Kelvar, not her. He pointed out interesting features in the buildings, took her across to the massive Imperial University complex that had once been the bureaucratic offices of the Empire, and watched as she gaped at the Great Library – a six-storey, domed palace stacked full of books, scrolls and maps, with shelves going further than the eye could see. She saw sculptures, paintings, statues and buildings that were part of a world that had been old before Tortall had ever existed, before there were countries that called themselves the Eastern Lands. She saw a world so old that it had gone from absolute monarchs, to a brief flowering of what the Tyrans called 'democracy' (for several hundred years), and back full circle again before Tortall so much had its name. 

But for all its ancient history, Lianne thought that she rather preferred her own heritage. Arranged marriages or not, at least her parents gave her some options (not many, but still…). Kelvar's very reluctant recounting of the events immediately prior to the wedding that brought the Empire and Tortall closer together through Sarain. She couldn't imagine what might have happened – what an Empress – a mother – might have said or done to her own son that there would be such a drastic shift, and such – as Kel seemed to imply – a personality change to the polite, polished, utterly inscrutable Prince and King that Lianne knew. The very quick subject change from Lara was interesting, too. Kel had shied right away from it as soon as possible, even preferring to talk about extremely private and speculative aspects of Yevgen's life over the Saren King's former lover. 

Interesting. Very interesting. It was just as well that they were scheduled for dinner and a night at the theatre with Radanae that evening. Even though Lianne knew very well that it would be a great deal more difficult getting information out of the diplomat, at least Radanae had been in the same year and friendship group as Yevgen and Lara.   
  


_Notes: If you haven't read the long notes at the end of chapter two of 'Lillias', the actual system of government (never mind the official – it's very complicated) in the Empire at the moment is 'enlightened despot' – with Rislyn being the enlightened despot with a very unhealthy interest in tax reform. Since the Human Era in the Eastern Lands is only in its fifth century (which is when I assume all the countries sprang up), and the Imperials are up to their twenty-ninth (with autocracy coming back in around the twenty-third), the Empire's been an Empire for a little longer than Tortall's been around.___

_If you're curious about why Kelvar's slipping up – well, he and Lianne have been travelling together for about six months or so…they're pretty comfortable in each other's company, usually, and, well, he forgets, sometimes…_   
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	4. Dinner and a Show

Dinner and a Show  
  
The door of Radanae's townhouse was opened by an imperious-looking woman in her mid-twenties, who had the bearing of an aristocrat herself (though stiffer), who turned out to be the butler. Kel's sister was waiting for them in a little reception room that smelled faintly of fresh paint, just off the foyer, with the fourth member of their party.   
  
Lianne remembered Captain Sarozi d'Arherindianius von Bresumarev from the summer's dramatics in Sarain, but she had to blink once or twice before she recognised him. It was…very _odd_…seeing him again, no longer weary and covered in grime, no longer the stern professional soldier and loyal officer of a Princess who Lianne was now aware was regarded as the most promising military commander of a generation. Even after six months travelling in the Empire, even after having an Imperial brother-in-law for more than three years, certain differences still hadn't quite sunk in. No, Saro, as he liked to be called, was well-nigh unrecognisable as the warrior she had met, now immaculately groomed and dressed in the latest fashion, dark hair perfectly styled, gleaming with subtle henna highlights and scented lightly with sandalwood. Smudges of kohl emphasised the long black lashes framing light green eyes, lending the slightest aura of the exotic to his attractive, intelligent face.   
  
He wasn't as handsome as some of the other Imperial males that Lianne had met, though – not even as handsome as Radanae's own brothers, which Lianne thought a bit odd. She would have thought that Radanae, undisputedly one of the richest women in the Empire even before her ascension to Head of the Gavrillian House, would have had her pick of the Empire's men – and yet, if Lianne was picking up the signals correctly, Radanae had chosen an ordinary soldier, not even a fellow knight and noble. Then again, judging from the quality of his clothes, Saro was hardly an impoverished serf, and only the absence of the white sword-belt and silver ring on the middle finger of his right hand distinguished him from the knights.   
  
But he was polite, charming, clearly highly cultured and intelligent. They spent the appetiser and soup courses discussing the various sights that Lianne had already seen travelling through the western parts of the Empire, and then the various attractions and landmarks that she might find interesting around the capital. Lianne found herself accepting an invitation to the opening of an art exhibition, though later she had no idea of when it would be, or what it would entail.   
  
Dinner was superb. The dainty little appetisers exploded with flavour, and the soup was absolutely perfect. They were followed by sweet-glazed eel, tender roast goose, mountains of winter vegetables, unrecognisable grains, and bread piping hot from the oven. Just when Lianne decided that she could eat no more, dessert of caramelised orange tarts and a magnificent layered cake of chocolate, cream, and preserved summer berries arrived at the table.   
  
Well…she _couldn't_ let all that chocolate go to waste, after all…  
  
  
  
Radanae had reserved a private box at the Ceronis theatre, one with a wonderful view of the stage, second only to that afforded to the Imperial box, which was empty. Lianne knew better than to even enquire why they weren't using it, or to be indignant that Rislyn had not offered. Lianne, herself would have been afforded the privilege – she was the Empress's sister-in-law's sister, after all, for all that nobody here other than those young knights who Lianne already knew seemed willing to speak of Yevgen at all. However, Radanae could not use the Imperial box without the Empress present, even had an invitation been issued. She could not use it for the same reason that she never wore diamonds, those clear, perfect gems that were eternally associated here with the narrow Diadem that was the symbol of absolute authority in the Empire. She could not use it for the same reason that she did not wear the Imperial colours of purple and red other than as part of her official armour or raiment.   
  
Close personal friend of the Empress or not, Radanae Gavrillian wasn't so much of a fool to give even the slightest impression of a hint that she had any designs on the Diadem whatsoever.   
  
It occurred to Lianne that despite their outward appearances of freedom, in some ways, the life of an Imperial knight had just as many restrictions as her own.   
  
It took Lianne only about twenty minutes into the first act to realise that the story being acted (well, actually, sung) on stage was one that she was already familiar with. It seemed that no matter where you were, some tales would always spring up, with the appropriate variations to take into account the other customs and traditions of the taletellers. The play was obviously a classic, and one that her three companions were equally obviously familiar with. There was a boy, there was a girl, they met fell in love, their families did not approve, and tried to separate them. There was duty, there was honour, there was romance, and it all took three hours (plus intermission) and endless amounts of handholding and singing to resolve. It was good, though – the acting, the singing, the dancing, the scenery, the music – Lianne thoroughly enjoyed the production.   
  
There were, however, a few subtle, but telling differences in the story from how it would be in Tortall. Lianne was fairly convinced, even in these comparatively enlightened days, that the Tortallan version wouldn't have a sword-fighting scene for the heroine, or that the said heroine would, instead of properly waiting around moping and weeping for the hero, simply work out a way to escape from her awkward predicament herself. She was almost sure that the hero in a Tortallan production wouldn't express his general misgivings about a family feud, or have his sword-fighting scene occur only when he had no other choice. She was dead-set certain that the Tortallan version wouldn't end with fake blood that didn't belong to either hero or heroine strewn all across the stage either, nor with the young lovers simply deciding to pack up and move to a distant city, leaving their impossible families to continue squabbling amongst themselves. Imperials went for the 'happily ever after' endings.   
  
After coffee and cakes (more food! Lianne had no idea where the others were putting it all) in a beautiful conservatory, it was time to call for the carriage and set off. There was a brief stop at Radanae's townhouse, where she and Saro got off and bade Kel and Lianne a good night, before the carriage set off for the Palace.   
  
  
"What's Saro to your sister?" Lianne asked, as soon as they had turned the corner from the street where Radanae's house was. The hour was late, and Saro had entered the door as though he lived there. "Are they…" she trailed off. She knew that Imperials were a lot more casual about relations between men and women than Tortallans were, but that didn't meant she felt comfortable saying it.   
  
Kel looked slightly confused. "Well, he usually stays with her if they're both in the city." He said slowly, not really understanding her query. As he saw it, his sister's private life was her own business, and Saro was a good enough sort. "They're friends. He has his own room, and I suppose he sleeps there most of the time." Then, it dawned on him what Lianne was asking. "No, he's not my brother-in-law, even unofficially. They're…a bit strange."  
  
It was the first criticism, however faint, that Lianne had ever heard him make of his sister, but before she could probe further, he made a remark about whether the style of the play was vastly different from the theatricals in Tortall, and would she like to see some more of the same sorts of entertainment…   
  
  
  
Dellan was setting up breakfast in the dining room the next morning, but Kel was nowhere to be seen. The note he had pushed under her door was soundly uninformative.   
  
"He apologizes, Highness," Dellan told her, "he did not wish to wake you this morning, but the Colonel was most insistent. He's been away for half a year – they are very keen to ensure that his standards have not dropped, and this was the only time they could find for him."  
  
Lianne was sure she looked like an idiot as she blinked, not comprehending a word.   
  
"Colonel Sir Agicolus A'yak, Highness. He's chair of the Board of Examiners at the Knights' Academy, but they take an interest in all the younger knights even after they've graduated." Dellan paused for a second, "Her Highness, Princess Berenice, asked that if you were inclined to do so, she would be pleased if you joined her for morning tea. Oh, I don't expect Kelvar to be released before sunset." Dellan concluded, in response to Lianne's obvious question.   
  
Lianne really wondered at the valet's choice of words.   
  
  
  
Like her twin brother, Princess Berenice, the Imperial Heir – who insisted that Lianne call her 'Kay' – was full of contradictions. They were in Kay's private apartment, which was as good an illustration of her complex personality as any. The cashmere throws on the divans were embroidered with flowers and edged with lace. There were full weapons racks bolted to the walls, as though they had overflowed from the armoury distantly visible through an open door. The walls were decorated with delicate embroideries, restful watercolours, tasteful sketches, and captured battle standards, some still stained with what Lianne _hoped_ was mud.   
  
As for the princess herself – well, at first glance, when she was sitting down gracefully in her tastefully decorated living room, and not actually wearing armour – Kay looked like the image of the classical fairy-tale princess. Pale blonde hair, that was straight or wavy depending on how she styled it, dark blue eyes, longish aristocratic nose, flawless skin – the list went on. Then, at second glance, certain things caught the eye – the fact that her entire demeanour was one of movement stilled, of a restless, dangerous – almost feline – predator. That there were sword-calluses in the perfectly shaped hands, and the long fingers with their delicately manicured nails bore the signs of long hours with bow and arrow. That there was hard muscle under the smooth silk of her skin, and the billowing sleeves of her robe concealed a narrow dagger, always ready for trouble.   
  
Whatever the reason, no matter how much she liked Kay personally, Lianne felt a most un-royal urge to run as soon as she arrived at her…sister's sister-in-law's apartments in the wing reserved for the Imperial family.   
  
"Sorry about all this," Kay wrinkled her nose as the door shut behind the attendant who had escorted Lianne through the endless corridors. "Useless formality's a part of life here, I'm afraid." She gave a commiserating smile. "I heard that they've finally dragged Kel off to the torture chambers, so please, if you have anything you want to see at all, I'm completely at your disposal. I've got a letter from Yevgen, just this morning," she broke off and went to a desk, where there were neat piles of correspondence.   
  
There was plenty in it about Kally, Lianne's older sister who was Yevgen's Queen in Sarain, and Lillias, their adorable one-year-old-daughter and Lianne's only niece, but Lianne put the letter down.   
  
"Torture chambers?" she queried, as Kay answered with a silvery laugh that was most unexpected from a military genius.   
  
"Sorry – that's our name for them. They're not – really – I mean that. No, just the testing chambers, to make sure he hasn't got all fat and lazy while he's been away. It won't take too long, I don't think. Now, I heard you went to the new production of 'Love in Birodis' last night. What did you think of it?"  
  
After some lengthy theatre criticism (Kay thought the ending too contrived, and the comedy-relief roles too forced), it was time for a tour of the Palace proper. There were some places that even Kelvar, a member of a prominent family, could not go without a better reason than sightseeing, but nobody was going to stop the Imperial Heir. They passed through corridors adorned with frescos that depicted millennia of history, gardens that still looked grand and beautiful under their light frosting of snow. They took lunch with a few young female knights, some of whom Lianne vaguely remembered from various delegations to Tortall and Sarain, and all of whom were curious about her, and eager to know more of the world west of the Roof. Eventually, though, they made their way to the 'working' part of the Palace, where the true 'business' end of a knight's duties took place.   
  
Afterwards, Lianne remembered gaping at the various feats of martial skill she saw in the yards that afternoon – horse-archers who could shoot a bulls- eye at fifty or a hundred years from the back of a galloping horse, unarmed fighters who moved like quicksilver and could aim a perfect kick to their opponent's temple, swordsmen and women who bore their blades as though they were an extension of their arms.   
  
"Kay! Lianne! How are you?" Lianne whipped around to see Radanae Gavrillian coming towards them, wearing what Lianne could now recognise as the armour of a light cavalry officer, carrying her helmet, two swords and a few daggers. A large blue roan stallion walked sedately beside her, though Radanae was not touching the reins, which were seemingly carelessly knotted up out of the way. There was a bruise darkening one of the diplomat's sharply angled cheekbones, and Radanae chuckled as she saw Lianne's startled look at it.  
  
"Careless," she laughed off the slight injury, "I've been behind a desk too much lately. I'm getting all flabby and slow," she gave an almost rueful pat to her flat stomach.   
  
Radanae obviously had a very different definition of 'flabby' than Lianne did. While the diplomat didn't have the more overt musculature of her brothers, or even of female 'military' knights like Justinia Ferox and Princess Berenice, like most young nobles here that Lianne had met, Radanae Gavrillian had rock-solid muscles under her well-pampered skin, and scarcely a spare ounce of fat.   
  
"You should practice more," Kay scolded, eyebrows down, looking at her friend.  
  
"I _should_ also be brushing up on my Fergandi etiquette, solving the impasse between the Serush and the Artinians, and helping crippled little old ladies across the street," Radanae shot back, brushing an invisible speck of dirt from an armguard. With a start, Lianne realised that the other woman's armour was a veritable work of art, the stiffened leather arm and thigh guards inlaid with polished steel, the breastplate finely acid-etched with swirling wolves and crossed scrolls, the rings of mail so fine that they looked as though they were knitted from spiders' silk.   
  
Kay shrugged, "Your life, when push comes to shove. Just don't get yourself killed when I'm your commander, that's all I ask. I don't want to have to write the letter to your mother."   
  
Radanae snorted, as did her horse. "I hear my brother's having a few tests run on him today," the diplomat changed the subject. "I think they should be nearly finished – old A'yak's putting him through a few sword drills now, I hear, in salle 35."  
  
Salle 35 proved to be a covered indoor yard, where currently three fighters were engaged in a bout in front of a good-sized crowd that was making periodic expressions of approval and admiration.   
  
Two of the fighters appeared to have joined forces against the third – one bearing a two-handed sword, the other a pair of long, slender daggers, while the third, who was fending them off with considerable skill, was using a longsword that Lianne thought very familiar.   
  
Then, before Lianne could decide who was winning (the lone fighter was visibly tiring, though), the bout was over. Not by a disarmament or a defeat, but the sound of a single handclap, and a commanding male voice saying '_ perficaé_ '.   
  
Immediately, all weapons lowered, and the three fighters took graceful steps back, removed their helmets, and bowed.   
  
"Good, good," a middle-aged knight with the look of an impatient bear, but an expression of satisfaction came forward. "My thanks, Astenovsky, Eriel. Vaschya, a little more work on your agility please, you were cutting it very fine in the last pass. Lara, pare back on the feints when working with partners – they may misinterpret them too. Otherwise, very fine work, both of you." The two who had been fighting against Kelvar bowed to the older knight and then made their way to the benches.   
  
"As for _you_, young Gavrillian," Colonel A'yak's bushy eyebrows came down, "sloppier than your wont, though not so bad as I had feared. Now, your parries on your left side…."  
  
Lianne could hear no more of the voice as the noise in the room increased, and she realised that her two companions were making their way further into the room (Radanae had left her horse, who she called 'Luc', outside), to where Vasilli Astenovsky and Felara Eriel were drinking copious amounts of water and chatting with a few members of the audience.   
  
For all the Imperial purported informality, the others faded respectfully into the distance as the princess approached.   
  
Now that she knew precisely who Lara was, Lianne took a moment to study her sister Kalasin's predecessor in Yevgen's life. Very pretty, of course, but at the same time, a completely different kind of beauty to Kalasin's – somehow more fragile, more delicate, though Lianne swiftly disabused herself of that notion, for no female knight was exactly a wilting hothouse flower.   
  
No, Lianne decided, Kally was in no danger from this quarter whatsoever, if she ever had been. Everyone in the whole situation had been born and bred to duty and honour, and they would not break that. There were no unconscious reminders for Yevgen of this young woman in Kally, and, as far as Lianne could see, this woman had made absolutely no attempts to continue any sort of contact, even as friends. Quite the opposite, in fact, to make sure that there was no possibility of misinterpretation or awkwardness on Kally's part.   
  
For the first time, Lianne found herself considering what her brother-in-law had given up to marry her sister.   
  
As for the other…Lianne had seen handsome men before – very many of them, and she knew that Imperial men were considerably less reluctant to enhance their looks, or to admit that they did. Even Kelvar was not above disguising his old scars, or perceived imperfections before formal occasions with a little cunning paintwork.   
  
But Vasilli Astenovsky needed no such artifice. Lianne knew that for all their vanity, knights didn't wear cosmetics on the battlefield or practice yards for the very good reason that they ran, and Vas looked – well, apart from the hair mussed from his helmet – almost exactly as he had at the Palace function a few nights before.   
  
"Ah, Highness, you light up the very world with your presence. The very stars hide in shame!"  
  
He sounded the same, too – a voice that brought to mind summer sun and glowing amber.   
  
The female knights gave him suspicious looks.  
  
By now, Colonel A'yak had finished telling Kelvar that he might just have a better than even chance of winning an arm-wrestling bout against a three-year-old with a broken arm, and dismissed the young knight. Kel made his way slowly over to them, looking tired and slightly chewed.   
  
"Of course, you _are_ coming to dinner with all of us tonight, aren't you?" Vaschya continued, still talking to Lianne, and making a sweeping movement of his hand that encompassed the others in the small group.  
  
Lianne must have looked blank. She remembered having accepted a dinner invitation from someone, but…  
  
"Oh come, come, you _must_!" Vaschya was insisting, perhaps misinterpreting her look. "Why, it'll be very much a family affair. Selera and Rory are coming, too. Besides," he added with a winning grin, "I've _already_ told Corin that you're coming…and Ris would love to see more of you while you're in the city."   
  
By this time, Kel was standing with them, having gratefully accepted a waterskin from someone and veritably drowning himself in it. He shot the exuberant Vaschya a decidedly wary look.   
  
The other male knight ignored it. "Oh, _look_ at the time," his gaze was fixed on the water-clock fixed to the wall of the sale, "I have a few things I must do before I have the pleasure of seeing you all again. Until then, with the most painful regret, I must take my leave."   
  
Lara received the gallant kiss on her hand with amusement, though whether it was at Vaschya's gesture or Lianne's starry-eyed reaction to the same treatment, was hard to tell. Kay got the formal salute from knight to Imperial Heir, though both parties were holding back their mirth (as though it was not a gesture that Vas made often), but the farewells given to both the Gavrillians were unusual. Radanae was favoured with no more than a slight formal bow, the generic greeting between knights, but Vas not only shook Kel's hand, but leaned in slightly to brush lips against the taller man's cheek, before turning and heading out towards the door.   
  
Lianne caught a glimpse of the fleeting expression on Radanae's face as the diplomat watched Sir Vasilli Astenovsky pass. If looks could kill, Lianne mused, then all that would be left of the gorgeous knight would be a rather less pretty smouldering pile of ash. 


	5. Rituals

For those who were curious, Kel took Lianne to see the Imperial version of  'Romeo and Juliet' in the last chapter. Congratulations to Winged Seraphim for getting it right. 

Rituals 

The dinner party was made up largely of younger knights, most of whom Lianne already knew – the Gavrillian siblings (Radanae's bruise hidden under a dusting of powder), Selera, Rory's wife, Kay, Lara, Justinia (but not Kay's secretary, Rose), Yelizabeta Delmaran, Vas, and of course, the Empress Rislyn and her Consort, Corin. There were a few that Lianne could not place, but, as far as she could see, Saro was the only one there (besides herself) who was not wearing the filigreed silver ring that was a symbol of knighthood here in the city. She had asked why she had never seen Yevgen wear one, and the only answer she got had to do with the aesthetics of wearing too much jewellery, when he already had a wedding ring and a great Ring of State (which he didn't wear anyway, if he could possibly avoid it). 

When she and Kel entered, Rislyn was speaking to Vas and Lizzie, about some art exhibition or another that the Empress's two cousins were patrons of, and trying in vain to organise. It was evidently not yet time to be seated, as everyone else was milling around or relaxing on the various low couches and chairs in the room, sipping drinks and taking little dainties that the waiting staff were passing around. Everyone that she knew came up to exchange a few words, and to introduce her to the few people that she did not. 

Lianne looked around her in wide-eyed interest, sure she looked like a gaping country bumpkin. This was Rislyn's private entertaining area, and the artistry of the chambers were exquisite even by the standards of the Imperials. Everything was at once familiar, and completely new, even the people she thought she knew as well as any foreign nobles, still friendly and approachable, but now undisputedly in their element. She watched with interest the various greetings going on – all seemed completely natural, but now she could see subtle differences. Some people merely exchanged smiles and nods, others slight bows or handshakes, while others embraced and exchanged kisses, but Lianne couldn't see any clear pattern. 

Kelvar was talking to his older brother, momentarily distracted, so Lianne cast her eyes around the room, finally resting on Justinia, who was standing at the side of the room, looking out the window into the Empress's private garden.

A true warrior, Lianne thought wryly, hating social functions with a passion. 

However, Justinia did not object as Lianne approached, and even she made some observation about theatre productions and upcoming art exhibitions, and nor did she bat an eyelid as she answered Lianne's query. 

"In a formal situation, in public, usually a bow or a handshake is adequate and appropriate," Justinia said, rather absently, "the kiss or embrace usually indicates a closer relationship – say a sibling, a cousin, a lover, or a friend who was once a lover. Traditionally, it was reserved for sword-partners, when knights were trained to fight in pairs, the reasoning that one would fight even harder for the life of someone that we loved, and that person was usually a sibling, cousin or lover, and the whole thing spread from there. It's quite rare now,"

"But a few of them kissed this evening," Lianne protested.

"Not the embrace, the concept of sword-partners," Justinia clarified. "I mean, Kelvar's parents were – or are – but I can't think of anyone else who is in a permanent pairing the way they are." 

"But then," Lianne began, not sure she wanted to hear the answer, but needing to ask the question, "are the Astenovskys and the Gavrillians related?"

"No, not that I can recall," Justinia answered almost immediately, as though she were absolutely sure, "why do you ask?"

Lianne sat down to dinner beside Kel with her head spinning. While she thought herself broad-minded, and she knew that Imperials were a good deal more relaxed about certain matters (randy as rabbits in the spring, her Great-Uncle Gareth had muttered more than once when he thought the younger ones weren't listening), the possibility that Kel and Vasilli Astenovsky….

Well, the mind boggled. 

She shot a glance at Vas, sitting not far away from them, but currently engaged in an animated discussion with Kay about some family works of art. Apparently they had been given by their mutual grandfather to Sir Jesal, Empress Vanaria's consort (hence, Kay's father), who, in turn had left them in his will to Yevgen, who had swapped them with Kay for something or other. Vas wanted to borrow them to use as references while he restored some mouldering family castle. Kay was arguing that while he was more than welcome to take them, she thought they were completely useless as far as historical value went. Something about them being 'great big globs of paint' while Vas retorted that he was hardly expecting the original blueprints. 

Dinner, as she had grown to expect in this part of the world, was magnificent. More elaborate, perhaps, than she usually had with Kel in the apartment, or even the previous evening with Radanae but it was still thoroughly enjoyable, food, atmosphere, company. 

If not only for that nagging doubt about Kel and Vasilli Astenovsky…

After dinner, it was obvious that everyone was going to stay around for a little while, talking and relaxing. It was hard to believe that in that room was concentrated much of the power in the Empire, hard to believe that they were anything other than a group of young friends enjoying each other's company – richer, perhaps, that most, but that was all. The laughter was still genuine, the jokes were still slightly off-colour, the occasional light flirtatious remark was still brushed off with a laugh and occasionally a jovial punch (jovial by Imperial standards – bruising, by Tortallan). Lianne went to look for Radanae, sure that of all people, she would be able to set Lianne's mind at ease, or at least, satisfy her curiosity. 

It was not to be. 

Radanae was standing just outside the wide doors that lead out from the dining room to Rislyn's private garden courtyard. In summer, Lianne supposed that the doors would be folded back completely, extending the room into the outdoors. 

But it was winter now, and nighttime. Standing outside was rather uncomfortable, but Radanae didn't seem to notice. She was stock-still, frozen in place, but not from cold. 

Lianne followed Radanae's line of sight. Just beyond the light cast by the torches placed on the outside walls of the dining room, by the side wall, there were two male figures, standing close. Lianne dared a glance over her shoulder – Kel was inside, talking to Corin and Rislyn. A movement allowed her to catch a glimpse of sun-gold hair. 

It was Vas and Saro, though what they had to talk about that had to be done outside in the cold Lianne had no idea. 

Evidently, Radanae did, and she wasn't happy about it. The diplomat's hands were flexing in a most undiplomatic way, the nails digging into her palms. The two figures moved closer, talking. One laughed, and ducked his head. 

Lianne's breath caught as one placed his hand on the side of the other's face, leaning close. Their lips met. 

Lianne was aware that she was staring, and, in the next moment, with nary a word, Radanae turned on her heel and strode back into the room. Lianne could just hear her telling Rislyn that she had a headache, and moreover, a great deal of work to do in the morning, and would her Majesty please excuse her? As she walked quickly out of the room, Lianne heard her say something to one of the attendants along the lines that she would be sending the carriage back for Captain d'Arherindianius von Bresumarev and it was at his full disposal. 

By the time that Lianne had turned back to the garden, the figures had disengaged, and one was gently pushing the other away. As they neared the light, Lianne could see that it was Saro who was breaking contact, stepping away. He said something, and while Lianne could not hear the words the tone was a negative one, tinged slightly with regret. 

She slipped back into the room before the two men noticed her. 

On entering, Saro immediately scanned the room, and asked after Radanae. He darted out the door as soon as he was informed that she had left, with barely more than a sketchy bow to the Empress. 

Vas entered scare seconds later, looking nonplussed. Lianne caught the knowing looks, knew what Vas and Saro had been to each other once…still? No, she doubted that. There was an air of finality to Saro's rejection, genuine panic and alarm once he had been informed of Radanae's departure. 

This was getting very confusing. She had thought being more relaxed about such matters, as the Imperials were, would make such things much easier. 

Evidently, it didn't. If anything, all the difference between the games that the ladies-in-waiting at Court (as opposed to Lianne's mother's Ladies) that Lianne so despised and the games she gathered were played in the Empire was that there were simply more permutations of genders that were acceptable. She had thought that being knights, being warriors, would make such underhand games seem so…pointless. 

Rislyn, however, caught Lianne's confusion. It was Rislyn who glided up to Lianne's side, the expression on her face unreadable, her voice quiet and contemplative, as though she was not speaking to Lianne at all. "Why is it, do you think it is, that when I have one of the fairest companies that any Empress could hope or dream for at my back, strong of mind, of magic, of heart, of sword, willing to suffer pains and hardships beyond recount for the Empire, to go without food, or rest, or comforts at my command, to serve me and the Empire full heartedly with minds and magics and swords, that they also manage to behave like the most impossible little brats this world has ever seen?" 

Lianne didn't have an answer to that question, but it was good to know that someone evidently a good deal wiser, a good deal more experienced than her was equally exasperated was a little comfort. 

"Lianne, I'm sorry, that's not something I can tell you, not only because I'm not permitted to by my oaths, but because I genuinely don't know if I've ever slept with Vas or not, the way you mean it." 

Lianne felt her jaw drop at Kelvar's rather direct answer to the question that she had spent hours trying to formulate. 

He smiled at her expression. "We were…out…on an assignment…some years ago. I was eighteen. We were _pretending_ to be lovers. On more than one occasion, I did manage to wake up in bed with absolutely no memory of what went on the previous night, probably due to the drug haze that was in most of the places we were going to."

"But Sir Vasilli knows?" Lianne didn't know whether it was acceptable to probe.

A shrug, "I suppose so. He's about Rory's age, and he entered the Swords straight out of the Academy, like I did, so he was more accustomed to it than I. I've never really wanted – or needed - to ask. Previously, I would have said that it was…out of character…for him to have done anything if he wasn't sure his partner was completely lucid at the time, and, until this visit, he's never really made any movement one way or another before. Then again," Kel conceded, "this is the first time since then that we've both been at the Palace at the same time for any extended period. I haven't seen him much for the last few years – 'Danae sees more of him."

"Your sister seems to dislike him."

"She does," Kelvar continued in his direct vein, "partly it's because she has to do a lot of the mind-numbing preparation and follow-up work when he takes on diplomatic assignments – which he does, primarily in northern and eastern provinces and client-states – when he gets most of the recognition, being the actual envoy. But, as I think you may have guessed, a lot of it comes because Vasilli and Saro used to live together – and there was enough ambiguity about their parting that it's always put some distance between my Saro and my sister – not that their particular pairing is without its own…irregularities."   

Just when she thought she knew him reasonably well, Kelvar threw out some highly unexpected curveballs. Lianne wondered if she would ever understand these strange people and their decidedly odd traits. 

The next few days were spent away from the other knights, for which Lianne was grateful. Instead, Kelvar very adroitly steered firmly away from returning to the topics of conversation they'd had that evening, as they explored the city and its surrounds, taking in all manner of sights and amusements, from the huge Arena that was reserved for games and grand spectacles, to the smallest hidden sanctuaries beyond the city walls whose purpose was to care for the rare and beautiful wildlife that lived in the area over the brief, but cold winter. They made plans for further travel (for while Lianne knew very well that while everyone in Tortall would prefer her to return soon, they were hardly going to be able to drag her back), when the weather improved, to see the eastern coast, to go south to the green, grassy plains where so much of the wealth of the Empire was concentrated.

She had no idea how she was going to return to Court life after this, to sit behind stone walls with hardly an excursion when she had seen more of the world that her peers back home had even dreamed existed. But she would face that problem when it came to her. For now, all she would do was enjoy her journey, and the company. 

Even if they were completely inscrutable sometimes. 

Radanae and Saro had evidently made up by the time that Lianne and Kel arrived at the art exhibition. Both nodded greetings, before turning back to the large painting that they had been studying. Radanae had her hands up, framing a small area, and was evidently making some remark about the composition of the piece. Saro was nodding and pointing out other details. 

Art was evidently a very fashionable pursuit. While Rislyn and Corin were nowhere in sight, practically every notable of Imperial power that Lianne recognised was either milling around looking at the art, or (especially the younger ones) stalking the drinks staff. 

The exhibition took her breath away. Sculpture, paintings, drawings, from tiny miniatures to huge canvasses that stretched the length of a wall, each was an exquisite example of artistry and genius. Even though she was used to the differing standards here, Lianne felt herself blush once or twice at several subject matters, but overall the exhibition was very much to her taste. She expressed as much to Lizzie, who she knew had organized much of the annual event, and the (not quite) princess had declared herself flattered that Lianne had enjoyed herself. 

Sir Vasilli Astenovsky, however, was nowhere to be seen, and Lizzie explained easily that he had been called away on a matter of some urgency. 

That fit, Lianne supposed, for not half an hour before she had caught a glimpse of Vas walking rapidly out of the gallery and heading towards the 'private' areas of the Palace (the exhibition was in the Empress's own gallery, on the 'public' grounds of the Palace itself), talking to another man in nondescript clothing. 

However, what didn't fit was the way that, as soon as Vas was out of sight of the general crowd (Lianne had been guiltily following him), he had tugged off his silver ring of knighthood and handed it to the other, with a gesture that it should be kept safe. What matter of urgency would mean that a knight would have to hide their identity and rank?

There was a chill in the air the next morning – not because it was winter – it wasn't a physical feeling, and, at any rate, central heating was an Imperial invention that Lianne 

was determined to introduce west of the Roof. No, the chill was a sensation, for want of a better word, an icy blanket over the Imperial Palace. 

However, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary when Lianne got up, nothing that she could sense as a source of the unease. Dellan brought breakfast in, as usual, but even Kel's usually cheerful servant seemed morose. He gave Lianne little more than a bow before heading towards Kel's room. When they both emerged, Kel looked little happier – if anything, he looked slightly shocked. No…stunned…was a better word. 

"Kel," Lianne probed, "is something the matter?"

A quick exchange of glances between Kel and Dellan. "Yes…in a manner of speaking," Kel said reluctantly. "There's been a death…an unexpected one."

"Who?" Lianne asked, her (delicious) breakfast forgotten.

"Vasilli Astenovsky." 

Imperials held funerals as quickly as possible after a death, another remnant of their proud warrior past, a practicality in the generally warm climate of the Empire. The Astenovsky family seat was far to the north, too far to transport the body of their scion, so, in the tradition of their House, and, as Kel explained, most older warrior Houses, Vas would be cremated in one of the courtyards of the Imperial Palace, his ashes to be entombed in the family mausoleum in Astar, their city. 

There was a large crowd at the pyre – though Vasilli Astenovsky's body was covered in a dark cloth, well weighted down so that no chance wind could blow it away. Though Kel said nothing of the kind, his slight stiffening of surprise was enough to tell Lianne that the practice was unusual – and that there must have been unusual circumstances in the death of the knight, circumstances that the family, or the Empress, did not want to be common knowledge. Lianne looked around at the others, surprised at how many notables of Imperial power were there. True, the Astenovskys were a respected, powerful family, cousins of the Empress herself, but that did not account for the genuine sorrow in so many faces, the early attendance when to send a bouquet and an elegant note a few hours later would be perfectly acceptable, the flowers that must have been plucked from private greenhouses to scatter at the foot of the pyre (for no florists would have had so much stock at short notice, nor would any self-respecting Imperial florist offer such hastily-conceived arrangements). 

Faces passed by – all the Gavrillian family, Justinia, Rose, various Delmaran princesses, even Odette and a few younger dark-haired girls who must have been her younger sisters or cousins. Radanae was there, with Saro. With a shock, Lianne noted that the diplomat's mascara was smudged, and there was a tear running down her face unchecked.

It was the first time that Lianne had seen any of the Imperials cry – not to mention that as Lianne knew very well, Radanae hadn't liked Vasilli Astenovsky very much at all.  Quite the opposite, in fact. 

A puzzle, then, a genuine puzzle. Lianne wondered how it fit with Vas's removal of his ring. 

Kel left her side with a murmured apology, making his way closer to the pyre, where he collected an unlit torch, the end wrapped in oil-soaked cloth. It was Empress Rislyn herself, dressed like the other knights in plain black, without even her white belt of knighthood or her Diadem, who carried the flame from which several others lit their torches. 

Lianne recognized a few of them – Kay, Lara, Saro, Radanae, Kelvar, Lizzie, Colonel A'yak, as well as an older blond man and woman who Lianne realized must be Vaschya's parents, amongst others, in all slightly more than a score. Rislyn said something, then, in a language that Lianne did not understand, but sounded like a benediction, a blessing, a memorial all at once, before she gently touched her torch to the pyre. The others followed suit, and flames roared up, immediately hiding Vas's dark-shrouded body from view. If it hadn't been such a solemn occasion, Lianne wondered if it would have been appropriate to hide a smile as a few overly dignified older knights had to quickly leap out of the way of the blaze. 

Kel was a little distance away, arguing with his sister and Kay. Whatever the disagreement, the two women won, and Kelvar returned to Lianne, looking slightly disgruntled. He forced a small, if slightly pained smile. "Come,' he said quietly, "let's go and see some more cheerful sights." 

Lianne looked behind her as Kel nudged her away with the dispersing crowd. She could see Saro offering Radanae a handkerchief, and the diplomat furtively wiping her eyes, before striding, chin up and back ramrod-straight towards the Palace compound. For all his superior length of leg, Saro had to scramble a little to keep up with the pace she set.  

"There's an exhibition of ice-sculptures at the Verinti Park," Kel was saying softly, "it's meant to be good."

She followed him through the quiet throng. The light breeze stirred what little remained of Sir Vasilli Astenovsky on the stone slab, before bearing the fine dark specks away into the cold winter sun. 

_Notes: If you want to know how Vaschya died, or another person's perspective on the events, it's also covered in Radanae's Memoirs on my homepage at www.geocities.com/fhwon1, and also at Fictionpress.net – where it's now also called 'Memoirs'. _

_Yevgen swapped the art collection with his sisters for more money to rebuild Sarain. He's not really as much of a romantic as people think._


	6. Conversations

CONVERSATIONS

By the time that Kelvar and Lianne returned to the Palace apartment, it was already occupied. Selera and Rory were sitting at the table, weaving black silk ribbon into a pre-prepared wreath of white flowers. They had evidently been arguing about what to write in tribute, if the amount of discarded ink-stained card scattered on the table, the floor, and overflowing from the waste-paper basket was any guide. Lianne wondered if it was completely inappropriate to notice that they were wearing matching dull black nail lacquer as well as matching wedding rings. 

Radanae was sitting apart, at the desk near the window, seemingly similarly struck with writers' block. Saro was sitting on the window seat itself, silent, as though he had already said all that needed to be said. Both looked…scrubbed raw, for some reason, and Radanae, especially, appeared slightly green around the gills. 

All four were dressed completely in black, without even the white sword-belts of knighthood (in the case of the three knights), even those weapons, lying idly around the room were now belted in black. 

"Mum and Dad have already gone to the Astenovsky mansion," Rory looked up briefly at their entrance. "Not the best introduction to our ways, Princess Lianne," he bowed, slightly ruefully, at Lianne.

With a shock, Lianne noticed that Rory's eyes, despite efforts to disguise it, were ever-so-slightly red. 

"You needn't come if you don't wish to, of course," Rory was continuing, making Lianne think that she had missed part of the conversation, "but Sir Kiraen Astenovsky and Dama Galodriaé Atar are close to Prince Yevgen, and they would like to meet you while you're in the capital – though, I gather, both of you would prefer slightly different circumstances."

Lianne had the sinking feeling that there was no polite way to refuse to go wherever Rory was suggesting that she go with them. She muttered something about seeing if she had anything else that was black to change into, and disappearing into her room. 

Radanae and Saro had already gone by the time Lianne had changed and returned, but Selera and Rory were waiting patiently for she and Kel, with the funeral wreath evidently finished. There was a companionable silence as they walked down to the courtyard where Selera had indicated that their carriage was waiting. 

The brothers were discussing something in low voices, trailing behind, while Selera and Lianne strode on ahead. Lianne dared a look at the knight under her eyelashes. Like Radanae, Selera was primarily a 'diplomatic' knight, though she had spent longer in military service than the younger woman, and seemed to bear an expression of perpetual irritation with the world in general, the only mar on an otherwise beautiful face.

"How is his Highness?" Selera broke the quiet. 

Lianne, by now, was very much aware that to his people, Yevgen was still 'Prince'. Not out of any lack of respect, rather, quite the opposite – because, to the Imperials, an Imperial Prince – the _only_ Imperial Prince, at that – vastly outranked a King of a distant land, even if they were one and the same person. Lianne had long learned that most Imperials believed that kings and queens were only a remnant of a barbarian past, one that they themselves had left behind in dusty history tomes. They, after all, had deposed their kings long ago, or those self-same kings had resigned their posts. 

The descendants of the kings who had once ruled lands now part of the Empire were now no more than its loyal knights. 

"Very well, when last I saw him," Lianne stammered.

"Oh?" Selera raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow, then smiled. Lianne was sure there was something going on behind that she couldn't see. "That is good to hear. Please, if you would be so kind, pass on my greetings to him when you see him next." 

It was dark when they arrived at their destination, an enormous mansion not far from where Kelvar's parents lived when they were in the capital, in the part of the city that Lianne had only ever heard referred to as 'Snob Hill', though she was sure that it had a more dignified official name. It was obvious that they were passing the town residences of the supremely wealthy and powerful, the so-called 'Fifty Houses' that Radanae had referred to at that function at the Palace, seemingly a lifetime ago. 

The gates were hung with black silk, obscuring the family crest, and torches burned along the walls, an anomaly in the area, where more expensive oil-lamps were commonplace. Lianne noted that the oil lamps at this particular mansion had not been lit.   

There was what appeared to be a tower of flame atop a pillar in the entry courtyard, but, as Lianne drew closer, it was revealed to be a cunningly-designed brazier.  She didn't want to get too close – the roaring flames put her too much in mind of the all-consuming pyre that morning. 

There was a man standing near the fire, holding a tray of glasses, filled with a clear liquid. The three knights each took one as they approached the flame, but Kelvar reached back to touch Lianne lightly on the arm and say, "You don't have to do this bit." He paused. "In fact, it might be better that you don't." 

Before Lianne could ask why, both Rory and Selera had thrown back the drinks with a single movement, and thrown the glasses into the fire, which shattered with a roar of  dancing blue flame. Kelvar followed suit, and Lianne was amazed to see his eyes water slightly when he turned back to her, offering his arm with a gesture that they should enter the mansion. 

"On the battlefield, it's more common just to drink water and throw the dregs on the large funeral pyre, but since it's peacetime, there's a little bit more scope for creativity and symbolism," Kelvar explained as they crossed the threshold. "It's unusual to have the actual drinking-and-throwing of glass at the funeral pyre itself, these days, partly because of the dangers of having broken glass around, and partly because it's not generally acceptable to be inebriated before the funeral feast. Different families have different formal drinks. The Delmarans have red wine, Gavrillians have mead, and so on. In the old days, the use of glass was a status symbol, and clay was more common, but in these days of mass-production, nearly everyone prefers glass. Something about the sound and the finality of it, I think. Some families hold that it's good luck to cut oneself on the glass and bleed into the flames, but not the Astenovskys." 

_Only_ an Imperial knight would think to give a running commentary on cultural points of interest during a funeral feast when his head was quite obviously spinning. Kel's eyes were just the slightest bit unfocused, though Selera and Rory seemed to be a little better at keeping their feet. 

The vast entrance foyer, also hung with black silk and lit with flaming torches and braziers rather than oil lamps, was full of people dressed in black. Only the occasional flash of silver distinguished knights from commoners (or 'citizens' as they were called here), and they spoke with low voices. Rory and Selera were heading over to one side of the foyer, where similar heaps of white flowers and black ribbon all but obscured a small altar, on which was laid a sword and shield. It was fairly obvious who they had belonged to. Lianne wondered if the peacock on the shield was a witty comment on the highly decorative knight, and crossed spears at the bird's feet was conveying something about his hidden depths. Like the shields of all the other knights she had seen, it had an intricate border of purple and red. 

They caught sight of Radanae and Saro easily enough, talking to the attractive older blond couple that Lianne had seen at the pyre and identified as Vasilli Astenovsky's parents, as well as a handsome blond knight of about twenty, and a pretty blonde girl in her late teens, quite clearly  younger siblings or cousins.

Radanae looked – not _sick_, precisely – but slightly unsteady on her feet, as though it were nothing but pride that was keeping her upright and coherent. 

"We thank you for coming, Radanae," Vaschya's mother was saying, "Vas always spoke so _well _of you. He often said that he would never have managed on his diplomatic missions without all your hard preparation work."

Lianne thought Radanae was about to cry, but was proved wrong when all the knight did was bow slightly. 

"…and Saro," that was Vas's father, a ruggedly handsome man who looked astonishingly like an older version of Yevgen, though with blue eyes rather than brown, clapping a friendly hand on Saro's shoulder, "it _is _good to see you again. Vas was so pleased that two people he held in so much affection were happy together,"

Saro seemed to be making choking sounds, which he was hiding with a coughing fit. Radanae asked a question that Lianne did not hear. 

"Yes, I'll be taking Eandir up north tomorrow morning with Vas," the young blond man was saying. "We'll set him free on the steppe, to run with the greater herd. He'll never take another rider, and the king-stallion of the smaller herd isn't one for rivals. Ah, Kelvar, you've made it."  The young man turned to them as they approached. "This must be Her Royal Highness the Princess Royal of Tortall,"

Kel performed introductions, naming the young man as Sir Haraldr Astenovsky, and, as expected, he was Vas's younger brother, and a lieutenant in a unit currently stationed in the capital itself. The girl was Iriwé, the youngest of the Astenovsky children, and in her final year at the Knights' Academy. 

"Sir Jesal was the younger brother of Sir Kiraen," Kelvar told Lianne in a hushed tone as they made their farewells to the bereaved family and moved away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Saro literally drag the green-complexioned Radanae over to the tables where food had been laid out, saying something to the effect that if she wasn't going to eat something, he was going to ram it down her throat, and make sure that she kept it down. "It's always been the irony of ironies that superficially, at least, Kay and Yevgen take after him a little more, while _his_ children have more of Jesal's look."

While it was quite blatantly obvious that everyone in that family (save Rislyn) was part _of_ the family, Lianne could see Kel's point. Kay and Yevgen – and their uncle – were extremely attractive, _handsome_, strictly, but certainly not in a blindingly obvious way. People would turn around to give them a second glance, or to watch them pass in the street, but they would not stop and stare for hours on end.  Not like Sir Kiraen's own children (though his wife was a _very_ beautiful woman), and not, Lianne gathered, like Sir Kiraen's brother. Empress Vanaria had clearly chosen her Consort at least partially on looks. Either that, or he had a lot of other good qualities, _and_ Vanaria was blind. Which, Lianne was pretty certain, was not the case. 

"So many people," Lianne repeated, for the room was full, and she could see more milling black figures in courtyard and rooms beyond, more carriages pulling up, and more people taking drinks. Vas's sword and shield were becoming increasing buried under mountains of flowers and ribbons. 

Kel cocked his head to one side. "Nearly everyone of note in the capital who can claim any sort of association, and some who can't," he confirmed. "The Astenovskys are a powerful family – and they were so, even before Sir Jesal married Vanaria. However, I would be lying if I said that the reason so many have come to pay their condolences isn't related to the identities of certain other guests." 

Lianne blinked. She hadn't even noticed Rislyn and Corin arrive, but they were there, by the family. Rislyn, she was surprised to see, looked like any other knight, without circlet, ring of state or any other distinguishing evidence of her rank. Unlike other monarchs she knew – her father, Yevgen, Kalasin, even, to a lesser extent, Barnesh, Rislyn simply didn't have the 'presence' of a monarch, that indescribable element that drew all eyes. The lack had been less obvious before, when Lianne had seen her at formal functions _looking _like an Empress, or at private friends-and-family dinners simply being herself, but here, without the trappings of power, and in public, Rislyn was simply…uncharismatic. Lianne couldn't quite understand how she came to that impression – Rislyn was certainly beautiful (like nearly everyone else on both sides of her family), quite obviously intelligent, capable, and exuded a sense of great competence, and even elegance and sophistication  – but no sense of majesty, none of the gravity that monarchs had, none of that regal dignity that even her younger brother and sister seemed able to 'turn on' in public. 

Puzzling. Lianne wondered if anyone else noticed, or if it was just her. 

"So _that's_ Princess Lianne," Iriwé poured two glasses of white wine, and then handed one to her cousin. 

Kay accepted the drink, but shot a disapproving look at the younger girl. 

"Oh shush," Iri waved a hand, "after today, I _really_ need a drink." 

Kay _still_ looked disapproving. 

"Don't patronize me, cousin," Iri snapped, "I _know_ my brother didn't simply happen to be caught up in a traffic accident on his way home from the exhibition opening party last night. For a start, all his horses, and his chariot, are in impeccable condition, and none of them went _out_ last night, secondly, my parents, much as I love them, are terrible liars even when they're _not_ distraught, thirdly, no matter how badly hurt he was, they still would have let us see him before they laid him on the pyre."

Kay reflected that it was fortunate that they were alone on the mezzanine above the entry foyer, carefully designed so that while conversations below were faintly audible, their own could not be overheard by prying ears. But then again, that was probably Iriwé's design in maneuvering them both up in this particular location. The old adage about the prettiest vessels not being able to hold water was as false in Iriwé as it was for Kay herself.

"Fourthly, I also know that you're not going to tell me how he died, either, and neither is anyone else, so I may as well get stewed." Iri threw back the glass in a single movement. 

"That's not an answer to anything," Kay scolded, feeling far older than her years, "it's also a waste of a very good wine." She sipped hers delicately in punctuation. "Yes, the dark-haired young woman down there is Princess Lianne of Tortall, the former Queen Dowager of Scanra, formerly betrothed to King Barnesh of Maren."

"Her sister's the one married to Yevgen, isn't she?' Iri asked, "the one with the black hair and blue eyes who came for the coronation. They don't really look all that much alike," she observed, leaning over the rail. "What do you think of her?"

"Oh, nice enough," Kay shrugged, and came to lean beside her cousin, back to the void. "They're pretty much the same west of the Roof, brought up to be charming and useless – though, admittedly, my dear sister-in-law has done her best to shake off her upbringing, at least in the latter. Lianne may very well be made of the same stuff. I don't know."

"But you _do_ know what's at stake here, don't you?"

"Of course. For years. I think Ris is being _very_ patient with them."

"What happens, will happen, even if it takes ten centuries and I have to shove it down their throats," Iri observed wryly, but she sipped her refilled drink, this time. She had Rislyn's dry, determined tone down perfectly. She paused. "But Yevgen _is_ reasonably content, isn't he?" she asked anxiously. "You didn't _really_ have to…" she blushed uncharacteristically, bright spots of colour appearing high on the sculpted cheekbones. 

"Oh, just a mild sedative the night before, just to make sure he didn't get any funny ideas," Kay said. "A very weak solution. I'm not stupid enough to actually have given him anything stronger when he had to be reasonably coherent the next day, not after the problems he had with the opium after his Trials."

A memory…of splintered, shattered bone, and blood everywhere, of sheer, wordless, indescribable pain reverberating through their twin-bond. Of relieving, cooling, numbing bliss, drifting away on sheer clouds. Of the overdose, the delirium, and the slow, painful withdrawal. She shuddered. It wasn't something she wanted to go through again, and she'd only felt it, literally, second-hand. 

Iri was looking at her curiously. 

"No," Kay shook his head, "it turned out well, even on the first night – they didn't even drink the wine."

The younger girl smiled and took another look over the balcony. "Well, _there's_ a pair who don't need any chemical help."

There were so many people milling below that Kay had no idea who her young cousin meant. 

"Ironically enough, Harry had the drinks laid in for Vas's birthday party next month," there was a slight twist to the edges of Sir Kiraen's mouth as he spoke to his old friend and brother-in-arms. 

Amergin nodded sympathetically, but said nothing. 

"We thought we'd use it to celebrate his life…now it goes to appease his spirit," Kiraen lifted his goblet up in a toast to the frosty night sky, and then spilled the rest of his drink into the flowerbed just outside the open window. He sighed. "No parent should ever have to stand at their child's pyre. And I've hosted funeral feasts for two of mine these last few years." 

More silence, remembering another handsome blond boy, Oleksandre, who had been born between Vasilli and Haraldr. Oleksandre, always called Olly, born the year between Amergin's two younger children. 

Olly, who had died barely two months after earning his knight's belt. A stray arrow during an assault upon a bandit camp, an infection, and that most promising life had been snuffed out. His family had barely had time to open the missive from his commanding officer before the simple clay urn had arrived. 

The Astenovskys had suffered more than their share of loss in the recent period of relative peace. 

"_You_ are fortunate in your children," Kiraen said at last, not without a twist of pain, remembering how even the day before he could claim the same number, then paused. "Have you told them yet?"

"No," Amergin shook his head, "and we don't intend to, not for some months. They have enough on their minds without worrying over things that they cannot change. No…we have a year at least, perhaps as long as two or three. It does not good to dwell on things that will come to pass, whether we wish them to or not. Where is Gali?" he asked, referring to his friend's wife. 

"Still talking to Rislyn," Kiraen inclined his head over to his niece, who he watched with an expression approaching pride. "You know, all things considered, I think she's good one, 'Mergin. Not just _going_ to be a good one, but a good one already."

"Likewise, Ki," Radanae's father agreed easily. "They all are. It is a relief to know that they all turned out so well." He paused, unsure how to go on, even his Senate-honed politician's tongue seemed inadequate in the circumstances. "Vaschya was a wonderful young man." 

Vas's father let out his breath. "He was. You are kind to say so. I thank you." Then, forcing a change of subject, he cast his glance over to Saro and Radanae. Saro had evidently bullied the smaller woman into sitting down at one of the trestle benches that had been set up on either side of the long tables groaning with the feast (the plain tables and benches, even covered with black linens, looked a trifle odd on the marble and mosaic of the huge room, but it was the best approximation of tradition that could be made in the city mansion, and at such short notice), and was piling up her plate. There was the tiniest of smiles around Sir Kiraen's mouth. 

"Some hope of happiness, at least, in this sad state of affairs. If I were you, 'Mergin, I'd tell 'Danae to grab that boy while she's got the opportunity. He makes for a more suitable son-in-law than most." He stopped, then, sounding thoughtful, continued, "Rislyn has been making the most uncharacteristic pronunciations about Kel and Princess Lianne, did you know?"

Amergin replied that he knew very well, though he did not articulate that he also knew the Empress's less romantic reasons for desiring a match between his youngest child and the younger sister of her brother's wife. He _liked_ Rislyn as a person, and thought that she made a good Empress. That _didn't_ meant he didn't know perfectly well what she was trying to do. _He_ had been one of her instructors in the murky art of Imperial politics, after all. 

"She seems a very nice girl," Kiraen was continuing, "it was a pity that we did not have the opportunity of making a closer acquaintance with the sister two years ago at the coronation. Yevgen seems happy, from his letters, though he _is_ so far away." He stopped. "Well, perhaps it's for the best, after all. Rislyn _does_ need someone like him on the western border. I hope that he will visit again. He _is_ my favourite nephew, after all."

Senator Sir Amergin Petronil tactfully neglected to remark that Prince Yevgen was Sir Kiraen's _only_ nephew, instead asking about the travel arrangements. 

"Harry has leave from his unit, he'll start north tomorrow with Vas's horse and most of the retinue. Gali and I will go in a few days. We probably won't be back until spring – maybe not until summer, though we'll definitely be back in time for Iriwé's Trials." He turned to his friend, and the pain and grief from his loss was clear in his eyes. "You will keep us informed if there are …further developments, won't you?"

"I will." The Senator said quietly, "I promise." 

The Astenovskys had known how their son had died, after all. They deserved to know the fates of every one of his killers, even if they were not the ones who had drawn blood. 

"Oh, Lianne?' Kel said, just before they parted in the corridor of the apartment, before they went to their separate rooms. "Don't pass on Selera's greeting to Yevgen."

"Why not?" Lianne frowned. She hadn't even known that Kel had been eavesdropping. 

"They don't…ah…they're not _exactly_ the best of friends. For reasons similar to why my sister does…_didn't_," he corrected himself, "like Vasilli Astenovsky." He answered the question before Lianne could so much as open her mouth to ask. 

"What happened?" Lianne asked, insistent, "Did she sleep with Lara?"

Kel's eyebrows flew up. "Considering they're first cousins, I _hope_ not. No, rather worse. Selera slept with _him_. Once. For a bet. Goodnight." He swayed slightly, looking lightheaded, then slipped inside his room and closed the door. Firmly. 

_That_ was certainly a way to end a conversation. 

_Note: For the curious, the drink was something like vodka, and there was probably the equivalent of about 3-4 shots in each glass. As those who read my 'Memoirs' story know, Radanae has had that on an extremely empty stomach. So it's not just the emotion of the occasion that has her looking off-colour. _

_Rislyn, for those who haven't read the previous stories, has dark reddish hair and dark green eyes, and looks nothing like her sibs. _

_Any guesses as to what's going on with the Gavrillian parents? People who read 'Memoirs' might get it. The new version is at Fictionpress.net, and it's lonely…thank you to everyone who reviewed the first version, by the way. I think I was more upset that they removed the reviews than the story when the first version got deleted. _


	7. Unanswered Questions

_ This chapter sees the return of purpleblue34 as Fiann the academic. Sorry for the neglect! It also explains (I hope!) why Radanae doesn't ever mention Saro until 'A Meeting of Magics' when they first met around 2813 – a good three or four years before 'Kalasin's Betrothal'   – besides, of course, the fact that I didn't think him up until 'A Meeting of Magics' __ J_

_ Before I start, though, a shameless plug for yet another vignette from the future. For those who liked the characters of Liam of Torenth and Odette Delmaran from 'A Meeting of Magics' the start of their own story is now posted in the 'Miscellaneous Novels' section, called 'Liam in Love'. Please come and have a look! If you get confused about the time-line, it takes place about four-and-a-half years after this. Odette has just turned nineteen, and Liam is twenty. I haven't forgotten about the 'Lillias' story, but, again, I want to sort out a few little timeline issues first, to make sure events and characters' ages all match up (I've made the mistake before – can anyone spot whose age I've mucked up in the earlier stories?) _

Unanswered Questions

Lianne woke to the less-than-dignified sounds of someone retching their guts out in the bathroom of the apartment. While the Palace had expansive bathing facilities, almost as large as a palace in themselves, and each floor that contained the residential apartments kept by the more powerful families was further equipped by only slightly more modest facilities, most apartments still had such conveniences – though they were little more than small tiled rooms with a large basin and a privy. 

Dellan blocked most of her view of Kel bent over the basin, but she could catch a glimpse of the knight, wearing what appeared to be a very short robe, barely knee-length, with sleeves to the elbows. Lianne was well aware that Kel displayed a good deal more modesty around her than was the norm for an Imperial knight, perhaps out of deference to more restrained Tortallan standards. She'd never seen him in any state of undress before, and this time she took advantage of the opportunity. 

He wasn't at his best. Clearly whatever had been in the drink the previous night had not agreed with him at all. Normally golden skin was pale, green-tinged, and clammy, and he was quite obviously unsteady on his feet. But his muscles were still clearly and beautifully defined, sleek, smooth and putting her in mind of nothing so much as a very elegant leopard. 

With a hangover. 

Dellan was holding what looked like a mug of tea, which he handed over without a word. Kel straightened up and took it. 

"Good morning, Lianne," Kel croaked, seeing her over Dellan's shoulder. The other man turned with a slight start, and looked a little surprised. Kel turned the tap on, flushing his mess down the drain. He was looking at her with a distinctly odd expression on his face. 

"I'm sorry," she stammered, not quite sure how to remove herself from the situation. "I heard…oh…ah…never mind…" she retreated back to her room. It was only after she had closed the door and was leaning back against it that she realized that the fastenings down the front of her nightdress had become undone. 

While the job of a military aide to a Princess sounded all very well and exciting, the opportunities to take secondary command, to stand imposingly behind said Princess at conferences, or to carry her heavy banner in a suitably dashing way were few and far between. Most of the job consisted of paperwork (pushed onto the Princess's overworked secretary in any case), the scanty remainder to inspecting troops and equipment, polishing parade armour, and cleaning up after boring so-called confidential meetings. 

There'd been one such meeting that morning, but unusually, three of the princess's officers did not gripe quite as much as their wont at the unwanted duty, because it gave them a chance to talk, sure that they would not be overheard.

Justinia wrinkled her nose as she lifted the lid of a teapot before putting it on the 'dirty dishes' tray to be left in a designated collection point (quite some way from the room) for the servants to pick up. Ordinarily, the clean-up should more properly have been the job of the Empress's own aides, but it had fallen upon Lara, Saro and herself for the very good reason that Rislyn was currently 'between aides', for reasons relating to drastic personality clashes, the Empress's own perfectionist demands, and Rislyn's former aides all deciding that prestige, honour, or not, even active service on the frontiers was better than a mental breakdown over the proper placement of teaspoons. 

Kay was easier to get along with – no less exacting, of course – but Kay was actually human, or at least more tolerant of human failings than her sister. Sometimes. 

"…who else would schedule a top-level meeting at the crack of dawn after a funeral feast at the Astenovskys?" she mused, half to herself. It wasn't fair. Rislyn and Kay _never_ got hangovers, not even after the fierce fire-water served as part of the ritual. It had been very potent. Justinia's own throbbing eyebrows, combined with the serious depletions of headache-powders and hangover-cures from the refreshments offered were strong evidence of that. 

Even her eyelashes ached. 

Saro looked at her in an amused manner. They were old friends, she and Saro, his mother being one of the first to welcome hers into the ranks of the unknighted elite – the professional and business classes. For whatever else she might disapprove of in her mother's life, she had to be grateful that she'd met Saro. 

Not that there was even a spark of romantic attraction between them – it was a highly ludicrous idea to all. Justinia had no time for romance, no time for anything but her career. Justinia was practical – yes, it was true that she was, in fact, Kay's superior (barely) as far as the rankings were concerned – but she knew very well that she was rising faster as aide to the Princess than she might even as a highly talented, well-thought-of officer independently. For sure, she might not have the _official_ rank, but that was of little relevance to her mind. Her responsibilities, her duties, as Kay's aide were far greater than her fellow first-rankers. The large commands, the chance to learn from only the best strategists, tacticians and soldiers, was far more valuable to her than any silly additional stripes. 

It was a small price to pay for having to tidy up the teacups occasionally. 

Saro was an invaluable part of Kay's team, a part that might not have come to attention for very many more years had Justinia not known of him. He was also, whether they admitted it or not, a very important part of Radanae's life, and even without their own acquaintance, Justinia would have valued Saro for her best friend's sake. 

Justinia had long since given up trying to understand their particular relationship. Or perhaps a better word would be peculiar. True, when they were in the capital, Saro stayed with Radanae, just as Justinia had until her mother had given her a city apartment for her twenty-fourth birthday a few months ago, but she had it on very reliable evidence that even though he was officially staying in one of the guest rooms, Saro spent most nights in Radanae's bedroom anyway. 

Justinia, personally, did not see the point. The very few occasions that she'd been attracted to someone, matters had been started, conducted, and concluded very easily, and very directly, to the satisfaction of both. Certainly none of the tortured games that others seemed to indulge in. 

"How's 'Danae this morning?" she remembered to ask, seeing as the subject had entrenched herself in her mind. Her best friend had looked decidedly ill all evening, the inevitable effects of Astenovsky vodka on a completely empty stomach. Of course, with typical pride, she had insisted nothing was wrong. 

"Not so bad as you might suppose," Saro replied guardedly, collating the scrap notepaper to be burned. "She's gone to her office this morning," 

"…and how are you?" Lara asked quietly, the question that Justinia had no idea how to phrase. 

They all knew what she meant. For all that Vas was so sought-after, there were few with whom he had dallied by choice (and if Justinia hadn't know what that was the case, aside from his fastidiousness, before, she certainly did now). Saro had been one of the very few, and as far as Justinia knew, perhaps one of two (the other had been a costume technician/designer from the Imperial Theatre, a very nice girl named Tinivé), who had actually moved in with Vas (who inevitably had the better abode), even though _that_ part of their relationship had lasted less than six months. 

Justinia was perfectly well aware of the dates because Radanae had spent the entire time sulking and trying to hide it – to the point where she had light-heartedly declared that she and Saro had never had anything more than a few casual flings, and very drunk casual flings at that, and that she was very happy for the both of them, and wished them well. 

Which meant that unless it was absolutely unavoidable, she pretended that they didn't exist. 

He paused in his work, and exhaled softly. "Well enough," he looked down at the highly polished table. "It still…hasn't quite sunk in yet. It's all happened so quickly…just the night before last, and yet it seems so long ago."  

Lara nodded understandingly. While her own professional acquaintance with Vas had ended when they were sixteen and eighteen respectively, she kept in touch with her former colleagues when she was moved back into mainstream duties. 

They were a rather small group, after all. At least, everyone _hoped_ so.  

"There's a difference between _knowing_ what _might_ happen, and when it actually does," Saro shook his head slightly, though it was unclear whether at the thought or at the state that an unnamed Councillor had left his plate. "Even though I knew that this day would come – expected it, rather – and it was one of the reasons I broke it off. I don't think that I would have been able to take – this – had we still been together." 

Justinia decided not to mention that the mortality rate of his current lover's occupation wasn't _really_ all that much better than that of his former lover's, as they put the conference room to rights. She didn't pursue the matter further, satisfied that at least none of them was going to collapse in howling fits of grief. Like most others of their acquaintance, she regarded details of Saro and Vas's relationship a private affair, and was unsure precisely how much Saro had known about Vas's death – or, for that matter, his life. She knew, however, that Saro must have been aware of at least most of the details  - judging from his presence at the meeting just concluded, which had discussed, among other things, the extent of illegal entertainment in the city, the involvement of various powerbrokers, and security for future operations – and that Saro had not seemed at all taken aback by any of the revelations, which had Justinia raise her eyebrows more than once. Saro hadn't even shown any surprise when Rislyn had mentioned who had been executed for the murder, and how – evidencing that he already knew perfectly well – and Justinia was a good deal better at reading expressions and body language than anyone might have guessed. Rislyn had not gone into anatomical details, out of respect for Vas's parents at the table, but she gave just enough information for everyone to be fully aware of what had taken place. 

Justinia had not actually been to the execution, but she had known very well what had happened, if not the precise details, even before the Empress had begun to speak. It was a little difficult _not_ to deduce how Vaschya had died, not when Kay, Lara, and, evidently, Saro, all knew perfectly well. 

She wouldn't be holding bets on Rose, either, for all that the secretary was, as far as they all knew, ignorant of the situation, and believed the standard story, that Vas had been killed in a messy traffic accident on his way home from the exhibition opening party. Justinia knew perfectly well that Kay would not hire someone of less than exceptional intellect, even for answering silly social invitations. 

All the same, Rose hadn't been requested to attend this meeting. Something about Kay's unwanted invites piling up, or so the Princess had said. In reality, of course, both Rislyn and Kay had been trying to limit this particular gathering to people who already knew for sure how Vas died. Pity. Justinia would have liked to be able to order someone else to dump the coffee dregs into the slops bucket. 

"I trust I shouldn't ask what's been going on these last few days?' Fiann asked as she eased her way into Radanae's visitors chair. A week away at a nearby ski resort for the University winter recess had seemed an ideal holiday – until she had come back and been faced with the unsettling feeling that she'd missed quite a lot. 

Radanae did not say anything, but grimaced at a steaming cup of evil-smelling tea, before gulping it down. 

"You'll find out soon enough," the diplomat coughed. "Vaschya died, as you're no doubt aware by now."

"Politics?" Fiann asked curiously, wondering what could provoke such an unguarded expression in the other woman's eyes – it wasn't just a hangover from the famous Astenovsky cellar that was giving Danae a headache, she would wager. 

Radanae blinked. Considering the events of the last few days, it was very odd to hear another interpretation of the circumstances of the knight's death other than the truth. But Fiann's guess was a good one. Even months ago Radanae herself would have supposed that it was the case – no knight – especially not one from such a powerful family, was completely uninvolved – as she knew perfectly well.  

"_Everything_ is politics, in this town," she replied.

Fiann did not bother to point out that Radanae hadn't actually answered the question. A satisfactory explanation was obviously not coming. 

There was a sense of deep sorrow, of grief, of shock in the air, still. Nearly everyone they passed – well, nobles at least – wore at least the semblance of mourning. It was just another very odd note. In Tortall, only the death of a member of the royal family – a popular, senior member of the royal family, at that – would have such a response. Here, not only had Vasilli Astenovsky been related to the Empress on the wrong side (unfair, unfair, she chided herself, Great-Uncle Gareth would get a similar reaction when he _finally_ died. Sometimes Lianne felt that someone would actually have to hit him very hard with an axe before that happened), he did not seem to have been even remotely old enough to have earned the status in his own right. There wasn't _that_ much apparent difference in age between Sir Kiraen and Dama Galodriaé and her own parents (though she had to admit that the unabashed vanity of most knights had its desired effect, in that it was rare for most older knights to look much older than their early forties), and she knew that Imperials tended to have children nearly a decade later than the norm in the Eastern lands. Surely, no matter how unexpected his death, there would not be this…anger…she knew what it was now…below the shock, the grief, there was _anger_ simmering under the surface, barely restrained by icy good manners. 

Even in Kel – and it was apparent he personally didn't like Vasilli Astenovsky much – or, at least, was uneasy around him. 

Curious. People died all the time in traffic accidents, even in Corus where the streets were nowhere near as busy. It must be quite common here. Vaschya had been a knight, and knights looked death in the face when they got up every morning – that was true everywhere. Why should there be the level of emotion here, when all had presumably been blooded in battle, seen more gruesome sights than the death of one young man, no matter how highly-regarded? 

"Was…Sir Vasilli very popular?" she asked, not sure how to begin.

"Yes…everyone knew him," Kelvar replied absently. 

Lianne knew there was a lot more to it than the casual tone suggested. "Everyone seems so sad…" she let her sentence trail off. 

"I don't think there's anyone decent who ever _really_ gets used to death," Kel's voice was serious. "Not even on border duty when a good week is one where you don't have to go to a funeral." His looked away for a fraction of a second, and Lianne knew that there had been times in his life when such ceremonies had been a regular occurrence. "It's always sad when someone dies," he said briskly. 

They were still in the Palace – it was as large as a decent-sized city in its own right, after all – and nearly everything was hung with a chill that wasn't entirely due to the weather. There was definitely something very odd going on. 

"You're picking it up," Kel's voice came out of the blue. Lianne started, looking at him with wide eyes. "I'm not entirely without…ah…'special talents'," he confessed. He didn't need to elaborate what 'it' was. 

Lianne nodded. For all that magic appeared be considerably rarer, and weaker this side of the Roof, most knights did have at least a trace of 'extra' powers – though in the vast majority of them, she gathered, it would not be even remotely powerful enough to use. "I don't understand…" she began, and then paused, not quite sure how to continue when it was clear that this was a subject that needed to be trod very carefully, "there's so much…grief…and shock…I've never felt so much of it for one person – many, yes, and during wars, but not for an accident…"

Kel seemed to be choosing his words carefully. She supposed he knew a lot more than he was intended to say, and was judging his language so that he wouldn't actually be telling untruths. "Yes, there is shock here – for we haven't exactly the longest life expectancy in the Empire – but no one expects a knight to die in a traffic accident." The corner of his mouth went up. "Death in battle, on garrison duty, even on a diplomatic mission is more or less taken for granted. We don't…live…long, as a rule. Thirty-five is about average for a knight. Less for a special operative, more for a diplomat. Slightly less for women than it is for the men."

Lianne opened her mouth, but Kel answered the question before she could ask it. 

"Childbirth. Statistically, we're the only society in the known world where the maternal mortality rate is higher in the ruling class than in the general population. Of course," he added, trying to be fair, "there aren't all that many other societies who _keep_ statistics."

"So it wasn't an accident." Lianne said flatly, not fooled by his digression. 

"No," he answered her forthrightly, looking at her directly, "but I cannot tell you more. There are things I cannot tell you, bound by oaths I swore long before we met – more so here, because the secret is not even mine to disclose." 

Kalasin had something to the same effect concerning Yevgen, Lianne remembered. There were a lot of things that were still left unsaid between the Saren monarchs, despite the fact that their devotion was clear to anyone with more intellect that the average patch of peat moss. Lianne knew that Kally simply lived with the fact that there were things that her husband and other half of her soul (in their case, it was more than a nauseating romantic cliché) would not, or could not tell her. Most arranged marriages were like that – with the added point that in most arranged marriages you simply didn't _want_ to know more about your partner than you absolutely had to.   

But if Kel was going to be so circumspect about something so…impersonal…what else would he be hiding about himself? What else might she never know about him? 

Kalasin might be able to tolerate such a situation, but Lianne knew that she could not. 

_ Note: If anyone has gone to read Memoirs, and **still** doesn't get how Vas died, or wants to know/have it confirmed, or doesn't quite understand why nobody wants to talk about it in detail, you're welcome to email me. It is rather significant._


	8. Entr'Acte

Entr'acte – A very short chapter with some very long notes

_If you're curious as to why Selera apparently uses Rory's room in the Gavrillian apartment to change at the Palace, instead of the other way round, when she's from a powerful family in her own right, and the Empire happens to be a matriarchy, I've assumed that since she's a younger daughter (stated in Kalasin's betrothal), and Rory is a non-inheriting son (because he has a sister – Radanae), arrangements are a bit less rigid, and everyone just sorts things out to their own satisfaction, depending on numbers, room, distances from venues, that sort of thing. Either Selera **does** actually get changed in her family apartment and just hangs around in the Gavrillian one because it's nicer, or perhaps her sister has already inherited and Selera feels uncomfortable still imposing on a place that ought to by rights now belong to a nephew or niece. She and Rory have their own house in the city (it's a fairly modest villa-townhouse on the lower slopes of Snob Hill, a joint wedding present from both sets of parents. It's probably bigger than Radanae's house – which has three floors, basement, attic, stables, servants' quarters, and about a dozen staff for one person who isn't even there most of the time – since Rory and Selera are planning on having children eventually), and presumably several other residences in the country and in other_ _cities anyway. _

Lianne got the very distinct feel that a great deal was going on around her, and that Kel had been assigned the task of keeping her out of the way, and was not _at all_ happy about it. He gave no overt signs, of course – he was far too _civilized_ for that – and they continued much as they always had, making plans to travel further around the Empire. She knew that soon, the letters would arrive through diplomatic channels, and she would need to go home. Back to Tortall, to duty, to being 'Princess Lianne', possibly back to yet another arranged marriage. 

Not something she wanted to go back to.

There was a commotion in one of the courtyards they passed, which ultimately turned out to be a young man about Lianne's own age, dressed in black riding leathers and functional steel mail, having a heated exchange with another young man of similar age who apparently filled the valet/assistant/agent function that Dellan did for Kel. It was something along the lines of a twice-cursed history essay that wasn't even due for another month which could be done the night before the due date in any case, and a thrice-condemned tax return that could ruddy well wait until he got back from burying his brother. 

Sir Haraldr Astenovsky, then – though nobody seemed to use his full name after the initial introductions, preferring the distinctly plebeian 'Harry'. Lianne recognised him vaguely, as Kel went over to greet the younger knight.  

"I shall be north for approximately a month," Harry was saying stiffly, in response to Kelvar's stock-standard question. "Mum and Dad will start off in a few days – Iri won't be able come, of course, though she'll stop by the mausoleum on her way to her post if she's assigned north." 

Kel nodded. Final year studies took precedence over nearly everything else, even the entombing of a sibling. Mortality rates were high for the knightly class, and the entire Academy would be continually absent if all were permitted leave for full funeral ceremonies. 

Courtesy satisfied, Harry bowed slightly to them both before mounting his horse and heading out the gate, presumably towards Snob Hill to join the rest of his travelling party, and make his sad way north. 

"Do things always happen so…quickly…after a funeral?" Lianne probed, thinking that events were progressing at a frenetic whirlwind pace that was extraordinary even by the efficient standards of the Imperials.

"Pardon?" Kel asked politely, "I'm not sure I understand."

Lianne knew that he knew perfectly well what she was asking, and was simply stalling for time to think up a response – worrying in itself, because even by the formidable standards of the Imperials, Kel was hardly considered deficient in the area of intellect – quite the opposite, in fact. Any social query which had him scrambling for a witty rejoinder was no such thing, whatever the intentions of the other party to the conversation. 

"Well…" she began hesitantly, "I know that I've never seen an Imperial funeral before…and, I hope not to see too many more, for that matter, it seems that everything's moved so quickly…I mean, he died only the day before yesterday, the funeral was yesterday, and they're taking him north today…"

"It is not unusual," Kel said mildly, in detached, slightly academic tones. "We are a people used to the touch of whatever gods of death there are. Our lives are short, and often come to brutal ends, and it is not uncommon for wills and funeral plans to be prepared even before one has truly lived." The corner of his mouth tilted up slightly, though there was no mirth in the small movement. "Battlefield practicality has made us very efficient in the disposal of earthly remains, and it is still the custom even in times of peace to speed the body to the earth after life has departed as soon as we may.' 

It wasn't quite an answer to the question, but Lianne let it slide. To her astonishment, their brisk, direct route had lead them through the huge Palace complex to the 'public' areas, to a long endless corridor that she had not seen before. 

It was clearly a portrait gallery, filled with paintings and busts, mainly of women, but there were a few men interspersed among them. There were tiny name-plaques and dates on each item, so small that it seemed that one was expected to know who they all were even without their assistance. 

The gallery was quiet, in a lifeless, cold way. Someone obviously favoured the high-grey-marble-columns school of interior design – and there was a sort of chilly formality about the place. 

There was a lone figure there, at the opposite end of the hall. 

Rislyn was alone, dressed sombrely in black and grey, without even the diamond hairclips that were her trademark 'casual' headgear. She appeared to be contemplating the last display, a large painting, and as they drew closer, Lianne saw that it was a portrait of Rislyn herself. 

"Four hundred and seventy-one years." Rislyn was talking quietly to herself, or possibly the painting, "One Dictator, Thirty-seven Empresses, three Emperors, and yet still… good morning, Sir Kelvar Gavrillian, and to you, Princess Lianne," she turned around in a single fluid movement, catching them off-guard. 

The Empress stood, spear-straight and cold, the chill radiating from her in a way that made the gentle snow outside seem like a sun-shower. Rislyn wasn't particularly tall, especially by Imperial standards, but she had a hauteur that made her seem more imposing. It didn't draw one in, though, in the manner of the legendary Kings and Queens of the stories – it simply made her seem remote, removed from the world. It was difficult for Lianne to hold back a shiver, even though she knew very well that under the ice, Rislyn was a perfectly ordinary young woman – disturbingly intelligent, and definitely more ruthless that Lianne wanted to know – but human none the less. It wasn't a particularly _true_ portrait hanging there on the wall, Lianne decided. True, Rislyn's physical features had been captured perfectly, and all the colours were vividly lifelike, but the whole _feel_ was wrong, in a way that Lianne couldn't describe in words – it was – gentler, somehow, and yet more warlike than Rislyn truly was, for the Empress was something at once controlled and utterly terrifying.  

"What a happy accident," Rislyn was saying in a rather toneless, though commanding voice, "I have been desirous of speaking to the two of you in any case of something of much import."  

"She's doing it again," Radanae was only just short of complaining. "She's getting rid of everyone who might object or is even a half-possible alternative before she does something really major that has a chance of blowing up in her face – I don't know why she bothers anymore – it's not as though she _has_ any political enemies left." 

"Force of habit, I suppose," Kay commented, "but I doubt if that is her purpose – _this _time."

"Oh?" there was a raised, sceptical eyebrow from the diplomat. 

"This time – from one perspective, she's getting the Astenovskys to leave so soon so it doesn't look as though they've pressured her into doing what she's about to do – there is too much speculation about my cousin's death as it is."

Radanae sat up quickly from her half-sprawled position on Kay's bed. It was a bit of a joke that the princess's personal taste ran disturbingly to pastels, lace, small glass beads, and swirls in her most private domain, when the rest of her apartment was decorated in a tasteful mish-mash of decors and styles that actually worked together to form a coherent whole. 

Kay's personal weapons-rack, in particular, looked very odd next to her laden dressing table. 

"No…not that, ironically enough, it doesn't even seem to have occurred to the street – even though half of it probably knew him – in _both_ senses of the word." 

Radanae winced. Kay could be savage – usually when her emotions were frayed beyond repair – but her sardonic comment cut just a little too close to the quick. 

"No – the rumour, given the identities of those who were 'killed while resisting arrest for slave-trafficking', was that he mistakenly blundered into them while club-hopping after the opening night party. Not _entirely_ inaccurate," Kay added fairly, "though the speculation has held that the 'official' version that Vas died in a traffic accident was one arrived at after pressure from Ris. Apparently, according to the ever-reliable Daily Gazette was that he was stabbed by two of them when he ran into the group leaving their meeting while he was weaving around drunk and stoned out of his skull, like any other reckless knight with high connections and too much money." 

It made sense, in a twisted sort of way. 

"Aunt Giselle is sick of the city already, so she was going to leave soon in any case. I need to clean up some of the contacts in the east. Besides, Saro shouldn't be in the city for a little while – and neither should you. I'm serious, 'Danae. Why do you think that no one ever gets two assignments in a row even remotely near each other? – it's to have a break, especially if something awful has happened. You need some time away from here, even if what's happened hasn't sunk in yet. Of course, we don't always have this luxury, but it would be foolish not to take advantage of it while it's here." She paused. "Go home for a little while. Visit Luana. Rislyn's sending Kelvar and Princess Lianne southeast with you. It might be a little easier for them in the country, away from all these distractions."

Radanae did not mention that her slow-moving brother had already had six months in the country with their guest. It wouldn't have done any good. 

Nor did she query why Rislyn was hinting the entire Gavrillian family home for the winter Senate recess. She would have to discover that herself in due course – for if Kay had been permitted to tell, she would have done so already. She knew well enough that it was nothing to do with Vas – nothing to do with Rislyn, with the calculated operations about to spring up in the city, or with wider Imperial politics at all. It was something personal about the Gavrillian family, something that affected them alone, and the Empire only so much as they were important players. She knew that it had nothing to do with money, or power, or politics – which left only a few possibilities – none of which she really wanted to think about.  

_For the eagle-eyed, yes, the Imperials use 'Mum' and not 'Mom' an affectionate way to address or refer to their female parent. It's not a typo. As those who have read the earlier stories are aware, the Imperial knights sound like clichéd Oxford undergrads, only they use different swear words. I'm also using UK spelling – basically, it's 'colour', not 'color'. _

_For all those 'pervy elf fanciers' out there, firstly, the famous 'Very Secret Diaries of the Lord of the Rings' by the phenomenally talented Cassandra Claire have new entries from, among others, King Theoden, Aragorn and Legolas which cover events in 'The Two Towers'. Secondly, on the subject of pervy elf fancying, Harry, Vas's brother, looks a bit like a blond Orlando Bloom (think Legolas from LOTR with short hair). He's not considered to be as handsome as Vas, and neither is Yevgen (who looks a little like Jude Law), so you can probably imagine what Vas looked like. For the curious, Iriwé, the youngest of the Astenovsky children, resembles Kate Hudson somewhat, and their mother's closest real life  equivalent would probably be the late Grace Kelly.  _

_Rislyn is actually, by our measurements, probably about 5'10 – 175 cm tall. That would be about average for a female knight. They're a fairly tall people, as a rule. Though, that being said, Radanae's 5'8 – 170cm tall, in a family which is consistently over 6'. She's very much the runt of the litter. _

_Luana is Radanae's first (and favourite) destrier, and appears in the Kalasin series. For what happened to the warhorse to force an early retirement, read 'Memoirs'. _

_For those who are really curious, the complete list of Imperial autocrats, from Berenice I (the Dictator) to Rislyn the Wise (the one in this story), is now on my homepage, at www.geocities.com/fhwon1/empresses, together with a revised timeline of the series, with references to Tamora Pierce canon, www.geocities.com/fhwon1/Timeline2_


	9. Clues

Clues

The princess's steps were light on the marble as she made her way to her elder sister's office. 

"They have gone?" the question mark was there only as courtesy.

"Yes," Kay shut the door behind her and strode the long distance to the large board at the side of the room where Rislyn was making a face as she crossed out a name in one column of a chart pinned to the wall and wrote it neatly in another, labeled 'Law? What Law?'

Kay recognised it as a table that nearly every knight-cadet in the years below her, and quite a few above, owned – Radanae had made it when she was thirteen and studying Inter-provincial and Client-State Relations, and had, in her pedantic way, categorized all the myriad provinces, client-kingdoms, free-cities, and such according to their government systems and how they incorporated laws and decrees from the Diadem into their own legal systems. In the way of such useful notes, the table had become pretty much standard for anyone studying the subject. She hadn't known that Rislyn had such a chart, though, for all that it had obviously been made for the Empress by the creator, evidenced by a little handwritten note in the margin, which read 'Ris, why do you bother? They all have to do what you or your mother say anyway.' Updates on the chart were quite obviously done manually, and by the Empress herself, if the variable handwriting, crossed-out names, and badly drawn arrows were any guide.   

"They're trying to re-institute religious law on a state level in Dulo again, and they're having some less than polite disagreements about it." Ris put the pen down with a grimace. "True, there's been a bit of a crime wave lately, but if they weren't so fancy-free with the hallucinogenic drugs there might not be quite so many spaced-out addicts robbing people for another hit." 

"Harry's gone too," Kay ventured.

"Good," Rislyn turned around, "one less hothead around for people to accuse of pushing me to act. Why is it that people think I'm not prepared to be a little blunt?"

_Because you're not blunt unless you have to be, _Kay thought, but did not say it out loud_. It's not worth killing more taxpayers than strictly necessary, because it's such a pain to make up the unexpected shortfalls in next years' budget. Sometimes, sister, you're colder and crueler than the most bloodthirsty tyrant – if it wasn't for things like this I'd wonder if you had any sort of feelings at all anymore. _

"It is ready," Rislyn's voice broke the quiet. "This time, to all netherworlds with the ramifications – we're not tolerating little 'lapses' like that anymore. Not even when I need them in other ways – we'll survive everything short of another blood mage." Rislyn had a habit of switching between the royal plural, a general plural, and her more usual singular mid-sentence. Kay found it vaguely unsettling, because it was never quite clear when Ris was doing it for effect, or just because she was tired and careless. 

Tired, maybe. Ris wouldn't still be wearing the Diadem if she were careless. 

"Most of the ones in the city itself were in that basement," Kay mentioned, depositing herself into a chair without being given permission.

"Most," Rislyn agreed. "But there are a few who don't like being so public in their entertainments, for fear of what just happened – I mean getting caught as a group, not killing the Empress's cousin. They'll be more subtle, harder to catch."  She shook her head. "I really wish that there were other ways to investigate – and we don't even have any suitables for the obvious method at the moment. There aren't any of the right age who have the right look and the required resiliency – not in the Academy, not even, I think, in my younger Swords – who all look too old at any rate. Perhaps that's just as well," she contemplated, a side of the Empress showing through that was rarely allowed out these days, a slightly more sentimental part only husband, daughter and sister ever saw. "It would be too tempting to use them for short-cuts in mundane tasks, no matter what the damage caused."

She didn't have to say what she was thinking for Kay to understand. Rislyn never openly criticized their late mother – and sometimes, Kay thought that she had been the only one out of the three of the children that Vanaria actually _liked_ – though there were distinct differences in their style and their general outlook on life. Vas had been sent out on too many quests, being badly injured and terribly abused, when there were other ways of gathering the information – true, less reliable, and true, more time-consuming – but in the end, even though his times in that world were objectively quite short, he had spent too much time there – enough time to be recognizable, enough time to draw suspicions. 

Enough time for someone to kill. Rislyn had assigned him only on his second-to-last (his last had been an on-going project from Vanaria's reign), but Kay could feel the guilt that her sister felt over their cousin's death, even though that had been one of the ones that had been unavoidable. 

"I'd like to borrow one of your secretaries for a little while," Rislyn changed the subject rapidly. 

"What happened to all yours?" Kay asked, surprised.

"Same thing that happened to the last lot, the ones before that, and my aides."  Rislyn added, precise as always. "Is it just me, or aren't they making them as strong as they used to be?"

"It's just you, Ris," Kay said, being completely honest. When a young aide complained that the Empress was 'driving them insane' or 'working them to death', they weren't exaggerating very much. Many of Rislyn's former secretaries and aides had requested transfers to combat zones out of their prestigious posts. She hesitated about the loan of any of her staff, no matter how much she loved her sister – Kay put a lot of care in selecting her subordinates, who were not only very useful, they were good company besides – she didn't relish the thought of trying to get coherency out of the broken-shell-state that Ris tended to return borrowed staff in. Kay found herself wishing that her sister returned staff in as good a condition as she returned borrowed horses. At least any horses she'd ever lent her sister had never returned on the verge of complete nervous breakdown.  

"Not your little one – Rosgrana, isn't it?  – you'll need probably need her out east – there's a little thing I want you to look at while you're cleaning up out there – Udirea is being difficult again – see if you can make some intimidating noises about those ridiculous trade barriers they're talking about, can you? If they start thinking they can be serious, everyone else will want to join in. Can you just lend me someone who knows their way around a filing room and how organise appointments until I find someone else suitable? It's an absolute nightmare trying to find the time to file my own notes." 

Almost as a punctuation to the last, the filing cabinet behind Rislyn fell over with a crash, revealing a large number of sensitive papers. The Empress sighed. "Just for a few months. Corin's staffers are all terrified of me, for some reason, so I can't keep borrowing them, and Aunt Giselle's keep hiding when they see me coming."

Kay couldn't help but think, rather irreverently, that both her aunt and her brother-in-law chose their staff well. However, she did have one senior secretary who looked as though they were starting to get bored – perhaps it was time that Rose got a few more responsibilities beyond organising dinner-party-rejections and the odd research assignment. Yes, perhaps it was time for a little staff reorganization.

"I don't want to lose Teleri or Amergin," Ris said quietly, into the silence, "much less both of them." 

"But we will – and sooner than anyone would like." Kay knew the topic was coming. She hesitated. "Do they know that you've told me?"

"I imagine so. You are my Heir, Kay, whether you like it or not. They would think me irresponsible if I did _not_ tell you. Just as I think they're being irresponsible in leaving so late to tell their children. When one has time to prepare, one must make the most of it." She stopped, thinking of how little time they'd had with their parents – their father, killed thwarting an assassination attempt on their mother, when the twins were still in the Academy, and their mother's short, sudden illness.  

"I take it there's no cure?"

Ris snorted, "You think if there was, we'd be making so many contingency plans? No, not even magic will do anything other than halt the spread – and it would take the entire concentration and all the talent of a powerful Healer – and not even for Teleri Gavrillian can we spare that."

The only person they could afford to use such a resource on was Rislyn herself – and his name was Corin – who had already tied his life to hers in any case. 

"Will the bond with Amergin help?" Kay asked, although she half-knew the answer from her magical studies. 

"It will help in that she'll live longer than without it," Rislyn replied, "it won't help in that he'll die when she does, though. I don't know what would be worse, actually – having Teleri die before the year is out, or losing both she and Amergin within the next few years – and the last few months of that will be a complete write-off anyway." The callus tone, Kay though, hid the older woman's real pain at the prospect of losing two of her most loyal and gifted advisors, who never hesitated to guide her, or tell her when she was about to fall on her face.   

They sailed down the Great River in the Gavrillian family yacht, which was equipped with ice-breaking equipment, though it was hardly needed for the very thin layer of frost that floated above the dark, inky water in the cold. Selanir, the base and seat of the Gavrillian family had once been, like most of the Empire, an independent kingdom in its own right. It had once been ruled by the Gavrillian family – who had officially surrendered their rule, their crown, their throne several centuries ago, to take their place in the Empire as nothing more than common knights and significant landowners. Currently, the former monarchs owned about one-third of the province outright, and exerted de facto control over the rest (and also over parts of the Empire that had nothing to do with their home province) to the point that it made virtually no difference that they were no longer kings and queens. Selanir, like many of the inner 'Heartland' provinces, had no Diadem-appointed Governor, that role of final arbiter, ultimate representative, militia commander taken by the Head of the Gavrillian House. 

Selanir was one of the larger provinces, and definitely one of the most prosperous (consequently, so were its most prominent citizens). Rich black soil was capable of producing three crops a year, as well as providing some of the best grazing in the Empire. Mines poured out practical iron, copper, zinc and tin, as well as precious gems, gold, and silver. The quarries provided fine marble, sandstone and granite, often seen in the most luxurious homes and palaces. Straddling the major trading routes to the south and east, it was a land of wealthy cities – teeming with merchants, artisans, and craftsmen – it had some of the most famed universities and centers of learning outside of the Imperial capitol itself, and also a thriving artistic community, second only to that in the capital. It was said that the provincial capital, Ilopei, was simply Bersone with fewer bureaucrats, a river port instead of a harbour, and no Imperial Palace – the former Royal Palace had long since become government offices and the Provincial Assembly – while the former rulers kept a rather nice residence in the city proper, it was comparatively modest, and the Gavrillians spent most of their time in their country house, their historic power base, in the north-east of the province, at the start of the Great River. 

Lianne's jaw dropped as they weighed anchor at the end of their journey. Wherever she had thought that Kelvar had come from, and spent the earliest years of his life, it was certainly not at the top of a waterfall. There was a well-worn path for the horses, and steps for those who preferred to go on foot, from the harbour to the citadel, but, for all intents and purposes, Lianne found that the river, which had been easily deep enough for the large yacht, came to an abrupt halt at one of the largest waterfalls she had ever seen, stretching high into the sky.

At the very top of the cliff , visible as they sailed to the river mouth, but not at the foot of the waterfall itself, was a castle – though to use the word was somewhat akin to calling the Great Southern Desert a sandpit. It appeared to be built _over_ raging river that crashed over the cliff and flowed down to form the Great River.

"The river provides the castle with its water," Kel told her, watching her expression, "the real source of the Great River is in the woods within the boundaries of the castle walls – it's just a little spring, and yet it becomes this huge torrent." He stopped, and held out his hand to assist her onto the gangplank so they could disembark. "Home," he said simply, "or as much of one as I really have."

"How long has it been since you've been here?" Lianne asked curiously. 

"Two years." He turned to her, with small smile, "This is the back way in – usually we approach by land – but it's faster by river if you come by the capital, particularly at this time of year."

This time, it was clear that she was here as Kelvar's private guest, and she was installed in a guest room in his apartment in the 'family' wing. Apparently, the 'real' guest quarters were on the opposite side of the palace (it wasn't really anything else), and were a very long walk away from the real living areas of the castle. Hence, in most cases, personal guests who did not have enormous entourages stayed in the guest rooms of the family suites. 

Not that Kelvar's 'suite' was really very much smaller than a full-fledged house. It was certainly larger than his 'bachelor pad' in the city, and probably not very far removed from the spacious Gavrillian suite in the Imperial Palace.   

The guest room that a maid showed her was really very pleasant – large, 'coincidentally' decorated in her favourite colours, with a large dressing room and a bathroom that appeared to be shared with the other (non-existent) guests. Kelvar had been drawn away by a middle-aged looking man in the livery of a house retainer, and hadn't had the chance to garble more than a rushed apology before he was ushered towards his parents' suite. 

Lianne smiled at the thought of Kelvar, already a well-respected and renowned knight, despite his youth, completely at the mercy of old family servants. It appeared that even on the opposite side of the known world, some things never changed.  

_Note:_

_At this point, Kay's story will diverge – but if you like Her Imperial Highness, the Princess Berenice, however, a little story about her next adventures in Udirea is posted over in the 'Lord of the Rings' section. It's called 'An Unwanted Present' and it is my obligatory Legolas fic. I don't** intend** it to be a romance – after all, even **Kay** makes a point to frolic within her own subspecies…though that may change – seeing as the precise genetic makeup of the current Imperial family is undergoing some revision at the moment, as I do a bit more research…_


	10. Talk

_Note: There is one small goof in the previous chapter. Can anyone spot it?_

Talk

"They will be a while. Family conferences in that family usually take some time." The refined, cool voice hit Lianne with all the force of a hefty punch as soon as she stepped into the corridor. 

Selera Carloni was a little further down the hall, shutting the door of what was presumably of Sir Rory Gavrillian's apartment. Lianne looked at the older woman curiously – she was very beautiful – but yet there was an edge, a sort of cold distain there, that Lianne had not seen since she had left her schooldays behind, and the spoiled convent darling schoolmates who had made her education a misery. 

Selera was wearing what would have been, _had_ it been worn by one of Lianne's old schoolmates, a riding habit. However, as Selera was a knight, and _not_ a spoiled convent darling, Lianne could only conclude that she was wearing a floor-length, wide-sleeved robe over shirt and breeches, the skirt kilted up slightly by means of a narrow silk cord attached to her belt to reveal said breeches and long riding boots. In addition, far from the elaborate braids and hairdressing disasters favoured by Lianne's peers, Selera's hair was cut in an angled bob following the line of her jaw. Lianne was slowly managing to distinguish the hairstyles of the knights – with the exception of the Delmaran women, who all seemed to wear their hair long and braided, all knights appeared to keep their hair relatively short. Military knights wore their hair cropped close to their heads, while diplomatic knights seemed to favour one-length cuts that hovered anywhere between jaw and shoulder. 

Lianne had no polite choice but to walk up to the other woman, though she tried to hide her wariness. It was clear that Radanae did not like Selera Carloni one bit, and, little as Lianne knew Kelvar's sister-by-blood, it was clear that the older woman was usually a good judge of character. Kelvar didn't seem to be particularly fond of his sister-in-law either, though he hadn't said so in quite so many words. 

There had also been the little exchange with Selera on the way to the Astenovsky mansion for the funeral feast. 

"What do you think of the castle?" Selera asked, her voice bland. 

"It's very nice," well, what else could she say?

"It's considered one of the most perfect examples of 22nd century architecture," Selera continued, "Once, it was a city unto its own right – now, of course, it's simply a rather large, very nice country estate. Rory and I were married here, you know."

Lianne blinked at the sudden change of subject. 

"It's an odd feeling, marrying into this family -  because that's what everybody does, regardless of the names the children will bear. No matter how exalted, people always marry into this family, not out – and they've never directly provided a Consort, so we don't know how that would affect things." Selera repeated, her tone whimsical. Lianne remembered belatedly that Selera came from a very powerful and wealthy family in her own right. 

"They were Kings and Queens of this land, once – not all that long ago, really, only about four hundred years ago or so. Nobody knows why they simply gave it up. They were wealthy, secure, powerful, in favour, and the locals were well satisfied with their rule. It's been a complete mystery to all outsiders." Selera continued. They were descending the stairs to the lower levels of the castle. 

Lianne wasn't sure whether the 'outsiders' was directed at her, or whether Selera included herself. Probably the former.  

"This is a family who keep their counsel private," Selera had rather peculiar eyes – amber gold, like a lioness's – and they were steady, unblinking, "a family long known to be faithful keepers of secrets – of both their own and those of others. Think carefully, Queen Dowager, Princess, before you decide this is one you want to be a part of." 

It was then that Lianne realized that Selera had never addressed her by her first name.  

It was a while later, when she had managed to casually wander away from Selera, that Lianne found herself in a peaceful paved courtyard garden, with a large tinkling fountains. They seemed very keen on paved courtyard gardens with tinkling fountains in this part of the world. 

She was not alone. 

Sitting on the stone edge of the fountain, dipping fingers into the water, was a girl – perhaps only a few years younger than Lianne herself – early teens at most, of indeterminate race, completely absorbed in the water. 

Lianne stepped carefully forward, careful not to disturb the girl. 

She need not have bothered. With a swiftness that Lianne had previously only seen in trained soldiers, the girl sprang up and quickly assumed a fighting pose – only relaxing when she took a good look at Lianne and evidently judged her to be no obvious threat. 

"Your Highness," she gave a short bow. 

"Does everyone know who I am?' Lianne was aware that she sounded petulant, but she didn't really care. 

The girl looked back, serious. "Yes" she replied soberly, then cleared her throat. "My name is Pippa Celestin. I'm an apprentice at the stud." At Lianne's perplexed look, she explained, "The destrier stud farm is on the eastern side of the castle." 

While Lianne was hardly the sort of girl who clomped around at home in muddy boots, wearing a bandanna in her hair, and doing very smelling things with a pitchfork, it would have taken a far more indifferent person than she not to be interested. Even with her admittedly scratchy expertise, she was perfectly aware that the destriers bred by the Gavrillian family were among the most intelligent and beautiful horses ever seen. 

However, that didn't explain what the girl was doing here, in the very heart of the castle – which was so large, that even from her room, all Lianne could see for miles were the nearly manicured grounds of the estate, even though the castle was built on top of a peak. Surely mere stablegirls wouldn't be dipping their fingers into the crystalline waters of one of the family fountains. For all that the Imperials seemed a lot more casual about social divides than Tortallans were, Lianne couldn't imagine that junior staff would have the run of the private quarters. 

Pippa had evidently learned the art of reading minds from her employers. "Dama Radanae recommended me for the position," she explained with a shrug, "she likes to talk with me – and I like to talk to her – about how I'm going, what I want to do with my future, that sort of thing. She got called away so she asked me to wait for her." 

But a simple career talk didn't result in red-rimmed eyes, Lianne was sure of that. 

Dinner was excruciatingly polite. It perplexed Lianne, for, while she had been to her fair share of dinners with them previously, all members of Kelvar's family had been friendly and open with each other, exchanging jokes and anecdotes, his parents behaving more like elder siblings than, well, parents. Even Selera usually became much more pleasant around her in-laws – or, Lianne gathered, Selera was simply a nicer person around Rory, just like the whispered murmurings around the Imperial Court hinted that Rory's standard of linguistic floridity spiraled dramatically upwards in the presence of his wife. They were a good pair, though, Lianne had to admit, each complementing the other, though they were completely unalike in personality. 

At least, though, they were easier to read than the inscrutable Kelvar. Though his impassive mask did slip now and then, for the most part, talking to Kelvar was like talking to an alabaster sculpture – beautiful, certainly, but when he didn't want to give anything away it was worse than talking to the brick wall. 

But Kelvar was…not exactly upset, not exactly. He looked, for want of a better word, stunned, though he was covering it up well with his usual erudite conversation. 

Everyone departed after dinner with excuses that were all very reasonable, polite, and, to someone who had grown up in a royal Court, quite obviously fake, especially for the three Gavrillian children. That, to Lianne that something odd was most definitely at foot – or, rather, more somethings. All the Gavrillians, despite the fact that they weren't all that much older than Lianne herself had grown up in a court, in a political game that she had realized from the outset was far more complex than anything in the Eastern Lands. It would take something quite extraordinary to make them reveal so much of themselves unintentionally, as they all were doing. 

Lianne gave an inward pout. This was _meant_ to be a nice, relaxing holiday. 

"I'm sorry, Lianne, but I can't tell you that – not yet." His habitual non-answer was really getting quite irritating. 

"So what can we talk about?" Lianne snapped, uncharacteristically irritated. "Is there no subject where you do not hold a great secret? Do you trust me so little?"

"Of course not!" he was genuinely insulted, "Lianne, of course there are things – a great many things that we do speak of, and I trust you, very much – but there are things that are not mine to tell, and it is not that I do not wish to answer your questions, but rather that the answers are not mine to give."

"A fine answer, and fine words."

"A truthful answer, my lady. I could feed you lies, but I will not dishonour you nor me in that way."

They were in trouble when they started speaking so formally. 

"…and I may tell you that the vast majority of those few things that I may not speak of would not be of much interest to you."

Lianne snapped, "…and it is for you to be the judge of that! Ever since I've met you, you've been evasions and non-answers. You first approached me on the orders of Rislyn, because she wanted a bond between your family and hers that wasn't obvious to the casual observer. You think I haven't wondered why they call me the 'Goddess-touched Princess', back home? I've had a fiancée and a husband die within a year, the former when you and a whole bunch of people I now know perfectly well are highly trained killers were in his capital, the latter just after you casually mention that I shouldn't even bother packing to go and meet him. How does that not _interest_ me? I would like to know if the man who I've been traveling with for the last six months killed his predecessors, for a start. I've stood bewildered at a funeral where it was obvious that everybody knew more about what was going on than I – and I don't just mean the cultural differences, Kelvar. Vasilli Astenovsky didn't die in a freak traffic accident – not the way that certain people were hiding their grief a bit too well. The people with clout, with power, not just those who were close to him or even liked him. Whatever you all disappeared to talk about this afternoon – without me, and evidently without Selera – what is so vital that no one outside your bloodline – even those who will be part of it – cannot hear?"

She stopped, seeing Kel's face freeze further.

"As to the last," he replied quietly, "Selera probably knew long before us, because she's spent a lot of the past year with my mother, and they get along famously. My mother's dying, Lianne. She has another year left – perhaps two – but certainly not more." He released his level, too-calm gaze and walked away to stoke up the fire. "When she dies, my father will die with her," he added softly. "Bound in life and death, lives, hearts, and souls in one." He added, the phrase sounding oddly stilted. "That's what Rislyn sent us all down here to get in the open – Rislyn knows, of course – mum told her first – and this isn't the sort of thing one wants to be open knowledge – which is what would happen had she told us while we were in the capital, at least until my sister's ready to take over the position."

Lianne stared, then wished that the floor would just open up and swallow her whole. It was one thing to be frustrated at his seeming reluctance to disclose things, quite another to be so insensitive after he had just heard that his parents were slowly dying. 

Kel looked at her expression, and chuckled despite his own confusion. "Lianne, if it means that much to you – I did not kill either King Barnesh of Maren, nor King-with-the-unpronounceable-name of Scanra. Does that satisfy you?"

"It will." She noticed that he hadn't mentioned the other incident that she had raised. "Vas?"

It was quite obviously one of the worst subjects she could bring up, from the way that Kel's lips tightened suddenly. ""Fine." The tone was cold, dead, "If it means so much to you, the post-mortem report of Sir Vasilli Astenovsky states that, amongst a great many other _very_ unpleasant things, he died of haemorrhaging as a result of repeated rape." An almost-snarl, incongruous against the usual super-civilised expression. My sister and Saro were the ones who found him first. As for the other thing, which seems to be taking up an inordinate amount of your speculation, not that it's really anyone's business, I never had sex with Vas. I hope _that_ satisfies your curiosity, Highness. Goodnight." With that clipped word, Kel suddenly turned and went into his room, leaving Lianne in the main section of the apartment, feeling empty and alone, and not even the bright lamps and cheerily burning fire could take away the feeling that the light covering of frost outside had coated the inside of the castle.


	11. Family History

_Notes/Review Responses:_

_To Pinkpanther: In my take on Tortall, only Kalasin, out of all Jon and Thayet's children, has the Healing Gift – since, as far as I could see, Jon's not a Healer, and Thayet doesn't have the Gift at all, it didn't make sense for all their kids to be brimming with all sorts of useful talents like that – so no, Lianne can't do anything for Teleri. I don't think even the Tortallans have a cure for cancer, which is what Teleri has – probably a malignant tumor, and, even in our world, she'd probably only have months. Amergin is the one keeping her alive for longer, though at the cost of his own life. Imperials are rather pragmatic about death, even though it upsets them. Both Teleri and Amergin are **old** for knights (they're in their early fifties), where, as Kelvar has stated before, the **average** age of death is about thirty-five. A **lot** of knights die on active service in their late teens and twenties, and then a large chunk of the remaining female knights die in childbirth (late twenties/early thirties), even supposing they survive that, the maximum life expectancy for most knights is only about mid-fifties, in any case. Radanae is going to be the seriously odd exception, as those who read 'Memoirs' might have guessed. _

Family History

"You know." that was all Lianne had to say when she entered the breakfast conservatory the next morning, to find Radanae the only other person there. The other members of the family had evidently been and gone, and Kel's door had been open, his room scrupulously neat when Lianne had emerged from hers. 

"It's extremely difficult to keep secrets in this family when we're all living under the same roof," Radanae told her. "Why else do you think we all had our own households almost as soon as we got back from our first assignments? It's not _just_ because we have wildly conflicting ideas of what constitutes good taste as far as interior design goes."

"I had no…" Lianne bit the sentence off. _Of course you knew_, she berated herself, _how else would they be all so good at keeping secrets, if they're not used to keeping everything a secret? The problem is, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to accept that this is simply how they all are, or are you going to turn around and ride home again, maybe find yourself with no alternative than another political marriage, when Kel is, apart from his pig-headedness, pretty much everything you've ever wanted? He was right about some of it, you know. A lot of those things – Vas – especially, aren't things that you should have known, and they were things that he probably didn't want to speak about. But what about the others? He would have told me about his parents eventually, I think, when it had settled in – and the information about Barnesh and Maggur – well, that's hardly something your Empress is going to be happy that you let slip._

She was aware that Radanae had paused in place, watching her with an unreadable expression, teacup frozen halfway to her lips. "Kel went riding this morning with Rory," she said in a matter-of-fact way. "I preferred to sleep to a sensible hour." 

Lianne had to smile at that, remembering a time that seemed so long ago, when they were trying to make a certain royal couple see sense, when the diplomat was never anything but surly in the mornings. 

Breakfasts here in the south-east had a few regional variations from the cuisine that Lianne had seen in the city but the helpings were unchanged – there was enough on the side buffet to feed a small army, and Radanae was alone at the breakfast table, save for what appeared to be a large bowlful of some sort of savory grain porridge, garnished with spring onions, a plate of smoked fish with scrambled eggs, a half-empty rack of toast, and a little pile of pastry crumbs. 

Lianne cautiously ladled a small helping of the porridge into a bowl (there was a huge potful over a little warming apparatus), and took a fruit pastry before sitting down at the table. Radanae poured her a cup of lemon-scented tea. 

"I don't blame you for being curious," Radanae said at last, rather absently piling eggs and smoked fish onto a piece of buttered toast to form a rather artistic creation of pale yellow and deep pink. "I would be in your situation – but please do not take offense if I say that there are certain things that we do not feel comfortable speaking of – it has absolutely nothing to do with you – just call it a cultural shortcoming, if you will." 

Lianne didn't quite know what the say to that. The porridge was very nice, though it was strange to think that it was flavoured with spiced fish and chicken rather than honey and cream. 

"Kel won't be back for the rest of the morning," Radanae began, when it was clear that Lianne was not going to make any reply. "He hasn't been home since Rory's wedding. I say 'home' as a matter of tradition more than anything else, though – none of us were born here, and we don't spend more than a few weeks a year here in any case." She put her knife and fork down and reached for her teacup. 

Lianne wasn't quite sure what to say. What could one say in such circumstances? 

"But how shall I ever know?" she asked, perfectly aware that she sounded plaintive. "Every time I think I know him, just a little bit, there's something else that comes in which makes me feel that he's so much of a stranger." 

"Is that not true of every relationship?" Radanae replied with a question, putting the teacup down after a small sip. "I do not know about you, but I've certainly never been entirely comfortable with anyone knowing everything about me, and quite frankly, I've never really wanted to know everything about anyone else. If that makes sense at this most unreasonable hour." 

It did, but Lianne couldn't quite bring herself to agree with it. Such a sentiment was perfectly fine for Radanae, a knight and a powerbroker in her own right, who was free to wed and bed whomever she chose, but not for Lianne herself, whose wishes were always going to be subordinate to the Tortallan national interest. 

Whatever that was.  

"Lianne, please, listen to me." Long fingers curled around the fragile porcelain of the teacup. "Nobody in this wide world is perfect. You've lived in it long enough to know that, I hope. I am not saying any of this in the hope of influencing you in any way, but I believe that you've been labouring under a misapprehension. You've lived all your life so far in the grim expectation of being expended in the cause of politics to someone disgusting. I don't deny that either Maggur of Scanra or Barnesh of Maren were exactly the sort I'd chose to associate with, but each had, from an objective perspective, at least, their redeeming points. But I think that with such a belief in mind, you've always imagined that any love you might have would be completely perfect, a veritable fairy tale as your nursemaid might have told – for I imagine it must have seemed so, in comparison to your expectations."

Lianne nodded warily, not quite sure what was coming next. 

"Kel is….not perfect. He is as far from perfection in some ways as Barnesh and Maggur were, perhaps even further."

Lianne's jaw dropped open, and she began to voice protestations at this damning comment of Kel by someone who should have been unconditionally supportive of him.

"He may be my brother, and I love him dearly, but I'm not blind, deaf, or stupid, Lianne. The whole point is, that people you love may have faults, may have habits you can't stand, and may, in fact, be very good at covering them up. Those faults may also be completely irrelevant. Do you think, for instance, that Kalasin knows that Yevgen is a former morphia addict, prone to bouts of severe depression, or that his mother came close to having him killed when he was born because of a weakness in the family that, in all probability, isn't even there anymore?"

Lianne's jaw hit the ground. And stayed there. 

"Thought not," Radanae mused, bringing the teacup to her lips, "and yet, those things probably a lot more relevant to them than a lot of things about Kel that he hasn't told you about yet. Do you think Kally needs or wants to know any of those things?"

Lianne shook her head mutely. "No…but….that's…."

"How is that different?" Radanae questioned. "Have you, for instance, poured your entire life history out to him?"

"Not exactly, but…." 

"But?" Radanae raised a polite eyebrow. "I realize that it may be slightly disconcerting to come to the end of a six-month journey with someone and still find that you have no idea what their favourite colour is, or how they like their tea, or that you find out about unusual quirks only much later. That's part of the game, isn't it?"

Lianne wanted to retort, to say that it was different for Radanae, who could leave any relationship at any time she wanted, than it was for her, where any match she made would have to stand for as long as they lived. She quickly shoved that aside – she knew perfectly well that she would know less about any other prospective husband than she did about Kel. That didn't stop the nagging feeling, however, that if she was going to make her own choice, she wanted to know who they were, to know everything about them. Someone who wouldn't suddenly surprise her just when she felt that she did know them. 

"I haven't convinced you, have I?" the voice was slightly self-depreciating. "If you do want to know the gory details, I can tell you, though whether it will set your mind at ease is a different matter entirely. We should start at the beginning, though." 

Lianne didn't feel like finishing her breakfast, excellent though it was, and rose to follow the older woman into the hall. 

Radanae took a different door to the one that a helpful footman had shown Lianne. This one, instead of leading to a functional corridor, instead lead to a large portrait gallery, hung with paintings, sculptures, and the odd tapestry or battle-trophy. 

They seemed to have been arranged in a reverse chronological order, with the newest items nearest to the breakfast room. Radanae was walking quickly, with the no-nonsense, long-legged stride that one acquires only by having friends considerably taller than oneself, so Lianne only barely caught a glimpse of Kel's portrait, probably done soon after he was knighted. 

Radanae didn't stop until she was right at the far end of the room, before a portrait of a pale skinned, dark haired woman with piercing light grey eyes. She bore very little resemblance to the distant descendant who waited for Lianne to catch up, but that was to be expected. Lianne passed people of every conceivable race and colouring, from pale blondes to blacks, to every single hue in between. Kel was a little bit of each of them. 

"This," Radanae made a sort of motion with her hand, "is Gavrile. It's not an original, of course – this one was done about three hundred years ago. The one who founded the family." 

Lianne studied the portrait carefully. Gavrile was not beautiful, but there was a certain fierceness about her, a determination, that filled her with strength and character. She was reclining on a fur-draped couch, evidently in a tent somewhere, hand resting on a very large wolfhound. 

"She was also a werewolf." Radanae added, as though she was mentioning that the woman's favourite colour was red. 

Lianne whirled around, gaping at her. 

Radanae looked nonplussed. "Ah. Something else Kel hasn't got around to telling you either, I take it?"

Lianne nodded. 

Radanae sighed. "As you've gathered by now, I suppose, our magical traditions are somewhat different to yours. While some of us do have the Gift, most of that is from immigrants from your part of the world. The sort of magics that are more common here come from sources like my dear great-great-many-greats-grandmother there. Oh, don't worry, it's not much of an influence now, unless you count the odd urge to rip somebody's throat out – though I'm told that's perfectly normal even in those who are wholly human. We can't even ShapeChange anymore, if it makes you feel any better."

It didn't, actually. 

"Most of the older aristocratic families have such…odd founders. It supposedly gives us so many of our traits, and a lot of our magical powers. It probably made it possible for our far-off nonhuman ancestor to take temporal power. It's quite accepted here. We're part werewolf, the same way that the Delmarans are sirens - though in reality, they've cross-bred to all the other families so much that they're basically everything even remotely humanoid - Carlonis are selkies, Astenovskys are wood-elves, and so on."

"So you're not…"

"Human?" Radanae finished the sentence for her. "It depends on your definition. But, no, we're not. Mostly, but not completely." She smiled. "See what I mean about not wanting or needing to know everything about Kel?"  

Lianne was saved from having to make an answer when the sound of running footsteps and a door being unceremoniously shoved open made them both turn around.

Selera stood there, looking slightly panicked. "Oh there you are," she said, her voice slightly strangled, a far cry from her usual condescending tones, "it's Rory…and Kelvar….there's been an accident….a landslide…" she began to turn and run down the corridor before she finished her sentence, presumably making her way outside. 

"My mother may be part werewolf, but my father has a sort of blood-sense, so he always knows if one of us is in danger." Radanae said, as they moved quickly after Selera, who they could hear bolting down the stairs to the stables. "In any case, Selera and Rory are always rummaging around in each other's minds, so in that, at least, I trust her. I think that the family history lesson can wait until another day. When Kel can give it."

Lianne wondered at the choice of words as she sped up to a trot, and then an all-out run.    


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Luckily, both Rory and Kel were alive, though injured. Rory was unconscious, and Kel was swearing so much that Lianne knew that he was going to be fine. Of their horses, Brunellus managed to evade the landslide entirely, and stood next to the fallen rock wearing a slightly guilty expression, while Rory's horse lay on its side, breathing heavily and squealing in pain. A quick examination proved that there was nothing to be done for the grey stallion, and his throat was mercifully cut. 

Radanae and Lianne arrived just as the brothers were being bundled into horse-litters for the trip back to the citadel (Kel protesting robustly all the way). Radanae's parents were there already, making sure that all was in order and leaving directions to the staff who had accompanied them regarding the reinforcement of the cliff-face above, and calming the hysterical Selera. 

Lianne gave her companion a curious look. She didn't think that female knights would behave the same way as the tiresome ladies-in-waiting back in Tortall, nor would they get the sort of comforting that Selera was getting from her mother-in-law if they did. However, Radanae's gaze did not indicate any contempt or distain – rather, there was a sort of grudging sympathy. 

"The bond that Selera and Rory have isn't a spell-made one, which is more usual – that's the sort that my parents have, or Kalasin and Yevgen." Radanae explained quietly. 

Lianne's eyebrows jerked up involuntarily. While she knew that her sister and brother-in-law were close, she didn't think that there was anything strictly magical about it. 

"Neither Rory nor Selera have very many magical gifts apart from those they have simply as a virtue of not-entirely-human bloodlines, so they didn't have enough power to bond in the more conventional fashion, as they originally intended. Theirs is on a more…primal level, one that is a bit less predictable. In an ordinary bond, one needs to consciously sense the other – they don't need do – it's sort of like always having the other person wandering around in your head, always being able to sense if something's gone wrong. The disadvantage, of course, is that it's not as precise as a spell-bond. For example, I doubt that Selera knew how bad things might have been here – since she's anchored to Rory, and he's presently unconscious, all she would have felt is a sudden numbness in her mind."

Lianne shuddered as she imagined the sensation. She supposed that Selera had very good reason to be shaken. 

"It's similar to the one that we have as a family, only much, much stronger – the one we have as members of the pack, so to speak, only seems to work in the face of absolute disaster culminating in an excruciatingly painful death." Radanae paused. "That happens less than one might expect, actually."

The news didn't particularly cheer Lianne, now that she knew that a good third of knights didn't make it to thirty, and that Kel's parents, who weren't much older than her own, were considered exceptionally long-lived as it was. It seemed that the Imperials had different standards in life expectancy, just as they did regarding appropriate behaviour for women and the amount one could conceivably eat at breakfast. 

It wasn't really an area she'd though to have a cultural clash. 

The brothers were taken to the infirmary wing as soon as they arrived back at the house. Lianne started a little at the terminology, but then sternly reminded herself that while the inhabitants of the palace might very well call it a 'house', it had been built as a defensive citadel and military barracks, and consequently would have all the features of a fully functional fortress. 

The infirmary wing wasn't at all like any other hospital Lianne had ever been into. She expected infirmaries to feature bare stone walls, scratchy sheets, sealed windows, an all-pervading smell of methylated spirits and a rather melancholy air. Instead, the infirmary wing was painted in tones of warm yellow (a stark contrast to the sophisticated muted tones of the rest of the palace), with huge glass windows, most of which opened to a beautiful courtyard garden. The resident medical staff were cheerful, professional and no-nonsense, and had both young men safely deposited into the comfortable rooms that were usually reserved for family members (though Lianne later learned that the private rooms were also used for quarantine). The only familiar aspects of the facility were the immaculately scrubbed surfaces and the lingering scent of disinfectant, though that was largely disguised by the fragranced lemon oil that had been used to put a mirror shine on floorboards and furniture. 

After a quick but thorough check, Rory was left under the supervision of Selera and a junior healer. He had no obvious serious injuries apart from some fairly superficial cuts, some bad bruising, and a twisted knee, but the doctors admitted that they wanted to wait until he regained consciousness before undergoing a more detailed examination. There were no skull fractures or any evidence of damage, and there was little they could do but wait. Rory was strong and in perfect health – they didn't want to use more exotic strategies in case he showed no sign of waking of his own accord. 

Kel, on the other hand, had broken several ribs, a collarbone, and a hip and was swearing profusely as they were set. Lianne had never heard quite so many obscenities used in such a grammatically correct fashion. Eventually, though, he was splinted, bandaged, and plastered to the healers' satisfaction, and then dosed with a sleeping potion when he insisted that he didn't need to rest. 

The attention turned to Rory then, and the landslide itself. Teleri said something about heavy winter rains and the desire to do something extremely painful involving blunt scalpels to her forestry managers. From what Lianne could overhear from her place in Kel's sickroom, some of the forests on the hillsides of the family estate were made up of a unique species of tree that was found no-where else, and made the finest paper (which, she gathered, accounted for the decision for the family to enter the publishing trade). It appeared that with the family absent from the estate for much of the year, the overseers had been harvesting perhaps a few trees over and above the numbers they were supposed to, and selling them privately. As far as numbers went, there had been comparatively few trees that had been harvested without the permission of the General – but enough had been taken that it had increased the erosion of the hillsides, and, compounded by recent heavy winter storms, the landslide had been almost inevitable. 

Lianne wasn't sure how long she was in Kel's new room. She must have dozed a little, for it was early twilight, and she was feeling slightly hungry. Kel was still asleep, and she caught an unexpected splash of blue on his arm. 

Curious, she leaned in for a closer look – a pattern of dark blue swirled around Kel's right forearm, from elbow to wrist. A few last lingering traces of makeup on his arm indicated why Lianne had never seen it before – far from the caked artifice of makeup from home, most cosmetics that Lianne had seen the Imperials use were subtle and generally barely noticeable. Most aristocrats appeared to have endless stocks of paints and powders, and also the skill to apply them well. Lianne remembered that it had been slightly surprising the first time she had seen many of her brother-in-law's friends in their 'social' rather than their 'military' guise, the difference that a few subtle brush-strokes of colour, or some carefully concealed flaws could make. 

She also remembered the almost-relief that she had felt when she realized that near-perfect appearances were mainly due to nothing more remarkable than attention to detail and a little paint.     

The sounds of a quiet conversation filtered from the next room. Without really meaning to, Lianne crept closer to the open door, where she could hear the quiet, though quite helpfully crystal-clear voices of the two young women. 

"Kay must be the only person who could accidentally invade a country." Selera's voice was tired and strained, but her amusement was audible. 

"She is not one to be blind to an opportunity when it is presented to her." Radanae's voice was a trifle stiff. 

"I would not think that she was." Selera replied, her tone even. 

There was a pause, and the sound of someone re-arranging sheets. "He will wake soon," Selera's voice was warm and affectionate, and it was clear that she wasn't really speaking to Radanae. Not for the first time, Lianne wondered about the dynamics in this most confusing family. While there was not overt dislike, it was clear that neither Radanae nor Kelvar were particularly fond of Selera – and yet they never gave any indication that they disapproved of the match she had made with their elder brother. Rory was clearly completely besotted, and the feelings were mutual. 

"You are unhappy," Selera was clearly back to her direct-conversation mode. "Is it merely because Rislyn knows of Rory's accident so soon?"

Lianne knew her probable sister-in-law well enough by know to picture the scowl on the diplomat's face. "I know perfectly well how effective the intelligence Service is," the acid tones crept into her voice, "I'm in it."

"Is it because of your appointment? I would have thought that you would be pleased. You'll be the youngest Governor in all the provinces." 

"I'll be Governor knowing that if it wasn't for a literal geological landside you would be in my place." 

"No you won't." Selera's voice was firm. With a start, Lianne realized that while a part of Radanae disliked Selera, and they were probably civilized rivals, there was a great deal of respect between the two young women as well. "You'll be there because you earned it. I may be on the governorship short-lists, just as you are, but I wouldn't have got Udirea as a first. Can you imagine what would happen the first time a barbarian decided to be asinine around me? I'd probably provoke an insurrection. You have more patience with that sort that I could have in a thousand years." 

"You'll have your governorship, though."

"Of course." There was not a trace of arrogance in the cut-glass tones. Selera was speaking the absolute truth. Lianne wondered if the two would ever realize how much they had in common. "But it won't be for a long time, Radanae, even if Udirea hadn't so conveniently come up, I won't be in the running for the more factitious posts. I'm not so…flexible…as you are in the day-to-day of governance. I'll be Consul, just as you will be one day, but I won't be having anywhere near so many adventurous governorships as you. Rislyn has better uses for me…and I don't fancy the standard of maternal care in that part of the world."

There was a stunned silence.

"No, not yet," Selera added hastily, "but…we're thinking of it….and it would please Teleri and Amergin to have a grandchild before…." She cut herself off. "Are you going to leave tonight?"

"No. I don't see that it would make much difference. Kay knows perfectly well how to run a province, even though she's reluctant to let too many people know, for the obvious reasons. I'll pack properly and set off property in a day or two. I'll need to stop by the capitol to pick up my full briefing and my staff anyway, and you know as well as I that they hardly ever have everything ready in time."

A movement from the bed behind her distracted Lianne from an almost-friendly exchange about the inadequacy of support staff. 

Kel looked at her with slightly unfocused, but lightly amused light brown eyes. "Did anyone ever tell you that it's rude to eavesdrop?"  

Lianne was caught between surprise and relief that he seemed to be fine. "I don't see how else I would find out anything around here." 

The amusement left Kel's eyes. "None of those things were particularly pertinent," he was completely serious. "I know it must frustrate you, but there are things that we do not like discussing here – and even more things that _I_ don't like to talk about. Will it reassure you to know that there are no unpleasant surprises lurking in my admittedly fairly mundane past?" 

It didn't reassure Lianne at all, in fact – for a start, whatever his standards were, from what she had heard, his past was far from mundane. 

With that in mind, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know what his definitions of 'unpleasant' or 'surprise' were. 

Selera's voice from the next room broke the uncomfortable silence. "Well, I suppose you'll be glad to see Saro again, won't you?" there was a too-innocent touch around the edges of the older woman's voice.

Radanae's reply was chilly and brief. There was a sound as the diplomat evidently rearranged her brother's blankets more to her liking and left the infirmary, her riding boots ringing clear on the wooden floors.

Professional respect, perhaps, Lianne mused, but there was certainly no personal affection between the two.


	13. More Headaches

**Chapter 13 – More Headaches**

Kel groaned and tried to sit up.

He was unsuccessful. 

Lianne dropped her book and crossed the room to try and help him, but he refused her help with an angry shake of his head (angry at himself, not her), and tried again. 

Lianne watched as the long muscles moved under his smooth skin – summer tan faded now to a deep fawn, the slightly lighter remnants of old scars crossing arms, chest and back. 

Kel had several tattoos – one, very small one at the base of his neck that he called a 'recovery mark' (Lianne didn't really want to know the meaning of that), another small one on the inside of his left elbow, of a black wolf's head (a family affectation), and the swirling blue design on his right forearm. 

"What does that one mean?" Lianne asked. The elaborate design was at odds with his other discreet markings – she had seen the others before, but it seemed that Kel had only considered disguising the largest of them all.

He gave her a wry grin. "It means…I'm out of the Swords now, drunk, thought it was a good idea at the time, and too vain to have it removed because the scars will be even more unsightly." At her confusion, he added. "Swords aren't allowed to have distinguishing tattoos or markings – it was enough of a bother trying to hide the other two when I was with them. The only way to remove tattoos property is to cut out one's outer layers of skin. It leaves scars which are even more noticeable than the ink." 

Lianne gave a soft "Oh." 

He glanced away for a brief moment. Lianne heard his audible exhalation, and realized that sitting up had cost more effort than he was willing to show. It seemed that males the world over were just the same, no matter that they seemed…if not exactly more civilized, at least less condescending this side of the Roof. 

 "Your sister's leaving," Lianne began, not knowing quite what to say. 

"Yes, she came and told me last night after you left," Kel replied. 

There was silence.

"Look, I…"

"No, you first."

More silence.

"We seem to be at an impasse," Kel said, not without humour at their perfect synchronicity. 

Lianne felt herself reddening, "I wanted to apologize…I shouldn't have been so….well….I'm sorry…about your parents…everything…"

Kel inclined his head slightly, "For my part, I do apologize for my reticence. Forgive me, there are times I forget that you haven't grown up here, and that things might not be quite the same." He paused, "That being said, though, I have to say that there are some things that I'm simply not permitted to talk about. Will it satisfy you if, in future, I tell you why I'm not permitted to talk about them?"

It seemed a reasonable compromise, so Lianne nodded, then looked for a way to change the topic. "Why don't you or Radanae ever say anything about Selera when neither of you like her?"

Kel started slightly. "Is it that obvious?"

"That you two don't like her? Very."

Long dark lashes veiled his eyes as he glanced downwards. "Because Rory loves her," he said quietly, "and no matter what else I can say about her, she loves him too. My brother made his choice…and it is not for me to disparage her. Selera is honorable, honest, loyal, intelligent, courteous to servants, and kind to animals. She's well respected and admired. Our parents like her."

"But you and Radanae don't."

"No. Radanae's dislike is more complicated – in part, it's to do with Yevgen, and, in part, it's simply healthy professional rivalry. I just dislike her for the simple reason that she's a bitch. Selera…doesn't forgive," Kel continued, "Her good opinion, once lost, is lost forever – and she doesn't have a good opinion of most." He paused. "Strangely enough, she and Vas always got on magnificently. Of course, Vas got on with everyone magnificently….even 'Danae, once upon a time, before Saro." 

"What happened with that?' Lianne asked, hoping that she wasn't pushing too many nerves, but intrigued nonetheless. 

"Simple enough story." Kel shrugged. "Saro and Danae met when they were at the University together. Vas and Saro met briefly when Sir Jesal died, nothing really came of it. Danae and Saro went about the usual drunken revelries, though they didn't make any promises to each other, then Danae went on her first assignment up north, while Saro stayed here and went to the War College. Then she was assigned to the Service, and came back to the city, only to find that Saro and Vas were coming to an understanding."

Lianne knew she shouldn't look surprised, but she couldn't help blinking a few times. 

"There's not much more to tell…Saro moved in with Vas for a few months, then they parted, I think, while Radanae was in Tortall for the first time – it would have been early 2817. Then, last year, she and Saro…drank a little too much at Justinia Ferox's birthday party, and she ended up taking him back to her house." He shrugged. "After that, he stayed over at her house sometimes, but had his own room. Then this. There isn't all that much to say. I've long since given up even trying to understand them. It will be good for her to see him again – if only so they can sort out what they intend to do – which was, no doubt, one of the many factors Ris was weighing up."

"Then why bother sending Radanae down here with us at all?" Lianne frowned.

"Kay left after we did – and this situation was hardly anticipated. From what I gather, Kay had barely time to set down her luggage before the other side surrendered. Ris needs to send someone up there fast – before there can be adverse interpretations of the facts. Kay is capable of governing, nobody denies that – perhaps too capable – and she's very near Astar."

Lianne hoped she didn't look at stupid as she felt. 

"Astar is the hereditary seat of the Astenovskys, just as this rock pile is the Gavrillian seat," Kel explained. "As I'm sure you've noticed, Kay and Yevgen take after their father's side of the family more – and when they were younger, it was to their father and his family that they turned to for…affection, I suppose you'd call it…and not to their mother or Delmarans." 

"Why is that a problem?"

"The problem," Kel shook his head, "is that, even now, many aren't completely convinced of Kay's loyalty. Ris doesn't have any more rivals – so people seem intent on inventing them for her – even Kay, who is the most obvious – except to those who know her – but not many do. She doesn't spend more time in the capital than is strictly necessary. She's highly intelligent and an extremely talented officer. She's more popular than Ris. There are many who can't understand why she hasn't made a bid for the Diadem yet. You see – here – unlike in Tortall – there's no bar on the other children, not even the sons – or other people, in fact, seeking the Diadem. It's not even _officially_ a hereditary position – it just happens to have been so for the last five hundred years. If you're curious, treason and sedition aren't really crimes here either – so we do have fairly differing attitudes to succession disputes than you do in Tortall."  

"So why Radanae?" Lianne sat on the end of the bed, intrigued.

"Firstly – even laying aside the fact that I'm biased because she is my sister – 'Danae is every bit as good as people think she is. If there is anyone who can take an unexpected new province in hand, it's her. Secondly – well – this particular part of the world is of complete irrelevance to Ris, so it's an opportunity to send someone relatively inexperienced to give her some experience. Thirdly – well, we're a southern family, technically. Our power base is here, and extends a little further south and east. We don't have much local power up north, where she's going – that way, the power-players in the capital won't be as alarmed as they would be if she was assigned somewhere near here. If someone like Kay, with Astenovsky connections, took up there – it would mean that the Astenovskys effectively control a goodly chunk of the frontier – and that always makes people nervous, especially how weird the Astenovskys can get once in a while." 

"Weird?" the slang was a little odd, coming from Kel. There were times that he spoke like a textbook. 

"Unusual." Another shrug. "It's hard to explain…they're a little fey sometimes – capricious, dangerous and yet other-worldly wise. But then," he gave a small grin, "so are we all." 

 When Lianne arrived in the infirmary the next morning, Kel's room was empty, the bed stripped of linens. 

"I think he's in the crypt," Radanae's voice, coming from nowhere, made Lianne jump.

The older woman was standing a little further down the corridor, her arms full of bandages, sticking plaster, and jars of salve and packets of herbs. She caught Lianne's startled look. "First aid kit," she said with a wry twist to her mouth. "I only seem to get injured when I _don't_ bring all this baggage along." 

"Crypt." Lianne repeated. 

"To think." Radanae qualified. "We tend to go there after accidents, just to be reminded of our own mortality." 

The Gavrillian crypt was the most un-crypt like crypt that Lianne had ever visited. When she had heard Kel and Harry Astenovsky making reference to the Astenovsky mausoleum, she had expected noble families in the Empire to have similar arrangements to those in the Eastern Lands. She had expected a gloomy cavern underground, cold and slightly damp. She had expected it to be dimly lit, dusty, with mysterious alcoves and stern stone effigies. 

The Gavrillian crypt was built of stone, but there the tradition ended. It was immaculate, like the rest of the castle, and high windows with frosted glass allowed for soft lighting without harsh glare. Since the Gavrillians, like most Imperials, cremated their dead, they had no need for the large stone tombs that were so common in the Eastern Lands. Instead, there were little metal plaques on the stone walls, each polished to a mirror sheen, decorated with a complex script that danced in the gentle light. 

There was also a disappointing lack of long, dark, passages, so Lianne found Kel very easily, standing before a half-filled wall, lost in thought. 

"Kel?" she ventured. 

He turned around. "Oh…good morning," he blinked, a little surprised. 

"I…" Lianne trailed off, not knowing what to say, "I just wanted to see if you were all right…Radanae said you'd be in here." 

"Well, here I am," he shrugged. He turned away to brush his fingers over an unmarked part of the wall. To Lianne's surprise, the stone came out easily from the wall, and Kel held it balanced in his hand. With a start, Lianne realized that each plaque must represent a member of the family. She looked back in the long corridor, realizing that there were literally thousands of neat plaques stretching back towards the entrance. 

"We've been here more than a thousand years," Kel told her, noting her surprise, "and we tend to have good-sized families." He paused, "and not all of them have ashes behind them – but the names are all here." He looked up at the seemingly endless wall of polished metal and stone. He seemed to have half-forgotten the stone in his hand, weighing it experimentally, before sliding it back into place. 

"Is…everyone here?" Lianne asked, slightly awed by the sheer history that was in the hall. 

"No," Kel shook his head. "Those who died in battlefields, far away, were left there, their bodies disposed of in whatever manner was necessary at the time, though their names are on the walls," 

With a start, Lianne belatedly realized that the elaborate script was used to identify the family members – though it looked like no other form of writing she had seen before, swirling in complex patterns that threatened to make the viewer cross-eyed. 

"and those who died in infancy or childhood have their ashes scattered over the waterfall," Kel continued, "their names are over there." 

There was a whole wall covered in silvery plaques. Lianne blinked at the number, each representing a small child or infant. 

"Oh…so many," she breathed, "how terrible for all the parents…"

Kel gave her a slightly incredulous look. "Lianne…you did say that you wanted me to be completely honest with you, didn't you?" he probed gently. 

"Yes, of course," Lianne turned back, a little curious at his reaction. 

"For a start…compared to most of the other knightly houses, we've a comparatively low infant mortality rate. It's true. That's mainly because we're quite boringly un-magical and actually have very, very little non-human blood running around in our veins. The more…ah…unusual influences are in a bloodline, the more problems they seem to have – which is one reason that unlike many others, we've never tried to combine – say – elf and siren just to see what one would get." He paused. "You get Ris," he muttered under his breath, and then continued, "The more…different species…the more…problems the children seem to have. Lianne, haven't you ever wondered why none of us seem to have any…ah…serious shortcomings, either physical or mental? There's nobody with so much as a harelip – and – despite occasional evidence to the contrary – you'd be hard pressed to find someone from the knightly class with a medically-recognised intellectual deficiency – as opposed to just being stubborn."

"I had wondered," Lianne began. It had been understandable, at first – when she was only meeting soldiers, diplomats and officials – but she had not been in the Empire long before she realized that there were no freak-shows at carnivals. She had thought that it was merely because the Imperials were simply kinder to their unfortunates, and did not allow such barbarity. She had a sinking feeling that Kel was about to prove her wrong.   

"Occasionally, when the child's prospects aren't…promising, the parents elect to cut their losses," Kel said with some degree of delicacy. "Standards vary a trifle between families – though most won't raise a child who won't be able to make entry-standard into the Academy." 

"You mean that they're killed?" Lianne could scarcely believe her ears. What had happened to the cultured, sophisticated civilization she had admired so much. Dimly, she remembered Radanae's warning – that there were some things that she didn't want to know. 

Kel didn't wince. "To be blunt, yes. In some cases, it's a kindness – for someone who wouldn't be suitable anyway. Generally, it's fairly obvious very early – and the decision is usually made quite soon. We're a little more fortunate than most, with nobody this generation," he pressed light fingertips to the engraving on one plaque – which had a series of intricate ideograms, and a single date in standard numerals '2771'. "My aunt," he said simply. "She was born with a malformed spine." 

A chill ran down Lianne's spine. Kel turned to look at her, his eyes not entirely unsympathetic, "You did say you wanted me to tell you everything I could Lianne," he reminded her gently. "Can you honestly say it's any worse than locking them up until they wither away in pain and despair, never understanding why it must be so? It's a remnant of our past – when a nomadic tribe couldn't afford to support those who couldn't keep up. When times were bad, the smaller of a pair of twins used to be killed. They still do it, in some families, to avoid succession issues. Some families have inherited problems like the bleeding sickness that only affects males, and so on…" he looked up at the seemingly endless array of plaques, each a name, each a date. 

"I take it that's everyone's names," Lianne was desperate to change the subject, "I've never seen that script before."

"It's Classical Selanpoi," Kel informed her. Lianne had a fleeting memory of visiting Kalasin, of overhearing Kel and Radanae arguing in a completely incomprehensible language seemingly devoid of vowels. "It's the original language of these parts…nearly extinct…but we retain a little, if only here. If, in the future, Selanpoi is lost, the names are engraved on the other side of the plaque in Common as well. It's just that the classical script is much prettier." 

Lianne's personal opinion was that it was migraine inducing, but she didn't mention it to Kel. But then again, on second thoughts, Lianne thought, it wasn't just unreadable script that was giving her a headache. 

_Note: Ancient, or Classical Selanpoi script looks like an unholy cross between traditional-form Chinese characters and Egyptian hieroglyphics. The so-called 'modern' form (it's an almost extinct language in any case) looks a little like very complicated Japanese. Some branches of the Imperial intelligence services use a simplified version of it for their ciphers._


	14. Chapter 14

_Selanpoi is the foreign-language from hell. Basically, take all the hardest parts of learning every single language – from an almost complete lack of vowels, to having six tenses and four genders, a grammatical structure that is without, ah, structure, to a literary form impossible for anyone with less than 20/20 vision to decipher – the list goes on. There is a reason that it's almost extinct – and the extremely clever intelligence service only uses a **simplified** version as a base for one of its ciphers. The Gavrillians speak it when they want to shout at each other, and yet want to keep the substance of the argument private – works a treat, as hardly anyone outside of the extended family and some loyal retainers is anywhere near fluent enough to understand them when they're going at full steam. It's officially their 'first' language – but seeing as Amergin doesn't speak it very well (and what little he can was laboriously learned only to impress Teleri), reality may be somewhat different. Certainly, none of them ever seem to use it when they're polite – though they all have quite an impressive vocabulary of insults and obscenities.  Anyway, it's been an obscenely long break, but Kel really had to think about what he wanted to say. Males. _

Chapter 14

By silent mutual agreement, the subject was dropped as they emerged into the clear winter daylight. There was a gentle breeze in the garden, not enough to cause any great discomfort, but enough to make the tails of Kel's coat float slightly, revealing the patterned silk lining. 

Lianne had noticed in her first few days of traveling in the Empire proper, that whatever the lightning-fast changes in fashion might emerge, the Imperials seemed as attached to endless variations to their long-sleeved, knee length coats as they were to their fearsomely designed armour and restrained tunics and mantles. She had been slightly surprised to note that they were more common than cloaks, which appeared to be worn only when traveling, so that they could do double duty as a blanket, or as part of ceremonial dress. Like most knights, Kel wore his coats with a slit at the back going to his waist for comfort when he was ahorse. Lianne made a mental note to get some of her own – she had worn them enough to know that they were more comfortable and practical than a cloak, but in all cases they had been loans from female knights and so were invariably too long for her. 

The day was bright despite the chill in the air, but it certainly wasn't warm enough to be spending time outside without good reason. Since they had no real reason to stay outside, they returned to the manor (as Kel insisted on calling it, though Lianne knew very well that it was a palace) There was morning tea laid out in what was rather uncreatively called the 'morning room', with every indication that the other members of the family had already been and gone, taking whatever sustenance they needed to while away the hours to lunch away with them. Of course, that was more apparent from the missing cutlery and crockery than anything else – certainly the large trays of food seemed barely disturbed. Lianne wondered where all the leftover food went, and then chided herself as she realized that there were entire battalions of servants and other workers on the estate, all of whom would appreciate extra treats. The food at the Gavrillian estate was undoubtedly of top quality, but hardly exotic or needlessly fussy, at least by local standards. Lianne had learned that most of it was produced on the very estates, and the family's table was not markedly different from that of any other family in Selanir. 

There was just more of it, that was all. 

Much more. 

Lianne flittered around the table, starting off with some hot soup and soft poppy-seed bread rolls, before moving onto the open tartlets and finishing with cake – with plenty of other little tidbits in between, of course. During her expeditions to the large table, she noticed that there was a small, but consistent stream of people coming in and out of the room, taking a few morsels or a cup of tea. She asked Kelvar about it after they left their plates and cups on a waiting trolley and went back out into the corridor. 

"Anyone's free to come in and have something for elevenses in winter here." Kelvar told her, "it's a tradition, dating back to when we used to rule the place, and wintertime was used for settling disputes and such before the planting and trading season started again. When people came before the Queen – or King – or whichever family member was unlucky enough to still be in the breakfast room too late that morning – to have something resolved there was usually a really, really long line of cases, so some practical chamberlain came up with the idea to have hot tea and bread ready for the petitioners, so they wouldn't get all impatient and go ruin the winter plantings in the garden or something. Predictably, of course, like all things in this part of the world, it got a bit out of hand, and what with various traders and farmers thinking it was a perfect marketing activity, it soon turned into a free-for-all winter buffet that had the occasional court case to break the monotony." 

"What happened then?" Lianne asked, curious, since it was blatantly obvious that such activities did not take place in the palace – Lianne was going to call the manor a palace because it was – whether its inhabitants did or not. 

"Democracy." Kel smiled. "Judges took over the whole farce, and the whole business moved to the Courts in Ilopei, and we're left with local farmers and merchants sending us 'samples' every winter. But whoever comes in to see my parents or my sister – usually the tenants or our agents – are free to come in and stop off for something while they're here. They'll be afternoon tea in the afternoon room in the west wing, after all." 

"You have an afternoon room?"

"Why not? We have a morning room, after all." 

Lianne couldn't argue with the logic of that statement, stupid as it was. 

"Does it snow everywhere in the Empire in winter?" she asked. The snow here was much lighter than it was further north in the capital – just enough to look pretty and picturesque, but not so much that it was a hard task for the animals to paw beneath it for winter grass when they were turned out into the fresh air for a few hours, or that it was difficult for their keepers to crack the ice that had formed on their water-troughs over the night. 

Kel shook his head. "No. This is about as far south as the snow comes and it's not even deep enough for skiing – once you cross the mountains you have the grasslands – and they'll only have snow once a decade or so….further south, is rainforest, where it's hot all year round. Beyond the rainforest, though, you have lands with snowfall again, though their winter is in our summer – if that makes any sense." 

"Oh, _there_ you are!" judging from Selera's condescending, slightly patronizing tone, it was clear that Rory was out of danger and things were back to normal. Lianne darted a look at Kel as he stiffened slightly at his sister-in-law's voice. "We've been looking for you _all morning_."  

_Definitely_ back to normal. While he was in the infirmary, Lianne had overheard them having a very civil conversation that wasn't at all strained. For some reason, even though she was uncomfortable about Selera herself, it made her feel a little less out-of-place in the Empire. Yes, the food was different, the landscape odd and the customs completely confusing, but it was good to know that people everywhere were just the same, and that people didn't get along with others for the silliest of reasons, and that people could do extraordinary things in the right circumstances. 

She didn't know what circumstances could force her to like Selera, though. She was rapidly coming to share Kel's opinion of his sister-in-law – but she had no idea how she was going to remain as polite towards Selera as he was. 

"We're in the small library, if you are inclined to join us," Selera turned on her heel and strode off without even acknowledging Lianne's existence. 

Kel caught Lianne's expression. "Back to normal." He said, his tone neutral. 

Since nobody had specifically _excluded_ her, Lianne found herself in the 'small' library with the rest of the family members. She should have expected, given their talent for understatement, that the 'small' library would be anything but modest, but the sight still took her breath away. 

Nobody looked surprised at Lianne's appearance, and nor did anyone ask her to leave, so she stayed. 

It seemed that the Gavrillians were not really a family that liked to get terribly close to each other, and nor did they enjoy the enforced formality of all sitting down at a meeting table unless it was truly necessary. they were scattered around the room at the precise distance required for them to converse easily, but too far for any accidental contact. Teleri and Amergin were sitting in two large armchairs, Rory on a window seat, Selera reclining rather imperiously on the sofa, while Radanae was sprawled across a large floor-cushion and making a list. 

"I do apologize that we haven't been the best of hosts, Lianne," Teleri smiled. She looked tired, and it was then that Lianne realized that Teleri wasn't going to leave the grounds of the estate ever again.

She had come home to die. 

"There isn't much to do around here around winter, so we wouldn't like you to be bored. I believe that there's parties leaving for the ski runs next week, or perhaps if you're sick of winter, we have some boats heading further south where the sun is actually warm."

It didn't take Lianne long to realize that she and Kel were being dismissed. With Radanae leaving for whatever task that Rislyn had set, and Rory and Selera doubtless leaving for their own estates (Kel had told her that both sets of parents had given the happy couple substantial grants of land upon the marriage), it appeared that Teleri and Amergin really wanted the castle all to themselves. Rather unflatteringly, she began to think of a comparison with her father's favourite hunting hound, who, towards the end of his long life had become increasingly snappish and sulky, hiding away for hours on end, not wanting anyone to see him as his strength waned. 

It was only when they were on their way up to their rooms that Lianne realized that Kel had expected something of the sort all along. 

 "My parents are the sort who are very fond of us….so long as we're half an Empire away," Kel said with a slight quirk of his lips as they climbed up the stairs. "We get on well enough at dinners or for short times, but we really can't be around each other for months on end. They're good people…but they're not cut out to be parents."

Lianne didn't quite know what she could say without making it worse. 

"We're warriors – though little may we practice that craft these days – and even the most enlightened of us aren't terribly good at showing weakness. I doubt Mum would have told us this early if Rislyn hadn't ordered her to – so that Radanae knows to get ready and stop faffing around like she normally does," Kel explained at Lianne's confused look.

They passed the open door to Radanae's suite. Unlike her brothers, who had normal apartments comprised of bedroom, bathroom, study and sitting room, the Gavrillian heir occupied one enormous space, sectioned off only by waist-high bookshelves and furniture. Heavy curtains at one end hid a sleeping alcove, and a folding painted-silk screen hid a bathtub, but otherwise it was one glorious open room for mess to spread. Currently, Radanae was in the midst of packing, so clothing, books, weaponry and other miscellaneous necessities were being flung into trunks and packs with a sort of regimented chaos. She looked up and waved at the pair of them, but didn't pause. 

It seemed that the Gavrillians accepted life as it came, and got on with it. Lianne didn't know whether to be concerned that the children seemed so remarkably composed at the prospect of their parents' deaths. 

_Would I be comfortable with my children taking it so calmly?_ She asked herself – just one of very many questions that were starting to plague her. How much easier had it been, just a few short years ago, when Kel was just a handsome, charming young man who was a far better prospect than anyone she knew back home, without all the foreignness and the seemingly endless chasm of culture between them. 

Then he smiled at her, and she knew that somehow, someway, he would be worth it all. 

"So what now my lady," he said gallantly – and Lianne knew that he was only pretending, but that he was a good enough actor to make it real – "shall we head for the ski fields or the surf?"


	15. News From Home

News from Home

Lianne shrieked like a delighted five-year-old as yet another wave dumped foamy cold seawater over her. It had been literally years since she had been able to really enjoy herself at the beach, even since she had been deemed too old to act in a hoydenish manner like making sandcastles and paddling in the shallows. 

Clearly, the Imperials were much more reasonable about their fun. Even so late in the season, the beach was alive with activity, with laughter and ball games around every corner. Lianne was very glad it was late in the season, because not only were there, according to Kel, fewer people than they were at the height of summer (though it was still quite warm), those few people were dressed in something resembling clothing. 

Lianne looked down at her own costume and tried to tell herself that it was actually positively prudish compared to some of the other women on the beach – dark blue, slim fitting breeches that came to her knees and a tunic that came to mid-thigh with elbow-length sleeves made of a very light wool – but she still felt rather undressed. Kel wore his breeches to mid-thigh, and Lianne couldn't help but think that it was only a concession to her sensibilities, though he made no reference to the point. Most of the other military-on-leave types at the resort, male and female, frolicked in the nude and looked quite comfortable about it. Lianne was quite amused to note that the fashion among the other women was for swimming costumes in light colours and fabrics that became transparent when they were wet. 

Birodis, according to Kel, was one of the premier seaside resorts in the Empire. In the summer, there were waves several times higher than a castle wall, and there were surfing competitions – Kel had explained surfing to her, but Lianne found it hard to comprehend – but in the winter it was quieter, with only the waves and the sand and the hundreds of tourists. 

The Gavrillians owned a villa close to the beach, so Kel and Lianne were not staying in any of the resorts or hotels nearby, which was just as well – from what Lianne had seen, they were populated by hordes of young tourists drinking and partying all hours of the night and day. She felt no compulsion to join in, and wondered if she should start feeling elderly.  

"It's marvelous!" she shouted to Kel over the roar of the water. It was cold, certainly, but it was wonderfully invigorating and refreshing. The salty tang of the sea, the bright warm sunshine, the soft, almost silken sand, nights spent gazing out to clear skies – Birodis really was wonderful. She wondered if Kel was enjoying this distraction from all his other concerns – she knew now that it would be very difficult to tell just by looking at him. 

Eventually, though, the tide began to retreat and the air grew too cold for them to stay in wet wool, so they made their way back up to the house, moving through the still-warm, soft sand. The Gavrillians employed a permanent live-in skeleton staff in the villa, who would hire more hands if family were staying, so their baths were ready when they returned, and the smell of cooking wafted from the kitchens. Though Lianne was perfectly aware that the Imperials were not shy about nudity, she wasn't quite prepared to take that step around others. Like most houses, the villa only had one bathhouse, the Imperial philosophy being that it was preferable to build one large, comfortable, well-equipped bathhouse for everyone, than it was to build separate female and male ones that were small and second-rate (not that anything in any of the Gavrillian homes was second rate). Lianne felt slightly guilty that Kel had given up the opportunity to have a long soak after a day at the beach for her, quietly washing up in his room, even though she knew perfectly well that he swam in the lap pool for a good hour after she went to sleep. 

After a good bath, Lianne made her way to the wide verandah facing the sea. They had dinner there most nights, and occasionally very early breakfasts, where they could watch the sun rise over the horizon, golden rays warming the clear blue perfection of the water. 

Kel was already sitting at the table, and he was not alone. With him was a young man about the same age as he. The newcomer had brown hair, and was large, muscular and rather travel worn, looking most out-of-place on the white-painted porch and the immaculate villa, next to the equally immaculate Kel in his hideously-wealthy-young-knight-on-holiday guise. 

Lianne blinked, not quite believing what she saw. "Gary?"

Sir Gareth of Naxen, named for his father and grandfather, was Lianne's second cousin. Frankly, Lianne thought that the striking lack of creativity in the Naxen part of the family was getting beyond a joke. 

Gary stood and bowed slightly, every inch of his body radiating outraged disapproval. It stuck Lianne how used she had become to the Imperial aristocrats and their iron control and studied civility, that she felt slightly alarmed by it. Judging from Kel's amused expression, Gary had obviously had to pass through any number of revelers and beach parties to reach the villa – which was on a relatively quiet stretch of coast. 

"Lianne," his voice was tight.

"I hope you've enjoyed your journey here, Gary," She marveled that her voice was so calm. "You're just in time for dinner."

Dinner was good, as it always was. Lianne noted that Imperials didn't seem to be overly attached to any one of cuisine, preferring to eat local specialties. Here, of course, seafood dominated the menu, a cold dressed crab salad to start, followed by lightly seared fish and finished with a tangy lime sorbet, in stark contrast to the more substantial food in the capital and the wildly contrasting flavors in Selanir. Gary ate with a rather ungracious air, taking no notice of the food or the setting and Lianne felt herself feel slightly ashamed. After all, Gary had just made the months-long journey across the known world, and he had every right to be tired and tetchy. 

Kel left quietly after the plates had been cleared away, making some excuse that he had to oversee Gary's room, but Lianne knew very well that he was going to be just out of sight. Imperial knights were trained to read situations and people very carefully, and while they both knew that Gary had something unpleasant he wanted to say, equally, Kel could flatten the Tortallan knight before Gary actually _did _anything to either Lianne, the furniture, or the house. 

"What can you be thinking, to come to this place?" Gary hissed, as soon as Kel went back into the house. Lianne made a mental note to talk to her father about introducing discretion as part of the curriculum for knights. 

"I think it's very nice," she replied, keeping her tone neutral. "Iced tea?" she knew Gary would refuse. He obviously didn't appreciate the Imperial fondness for iced drinks, and had stuck stubbornly to his preference for red wine all evening, despite the fact that it was ill-suited to the meal and had necessitated some hurried discussions between Kel and the villa's butler. 

"No thank you," Gary muttered. "Lianne – what can you have been thinking, traipsing around like this without a thought?"

"I assure you that I know exactly what I'm doing."

"You've been away for more than half a year, gallivanting around without a care for your reputation or any sort of propriety whatsoever, and, furthermore…"

"Gary." Lianne put her glass down and looked at her rather pompous cousin levelly. "I am a grown woman, a respectable widow who can do as she pleases. What I chose to do is my business – and I have no doubt that even if I had spent all my time sitting quietly in a convent embroidering altar cloths, there would still be catty gossip about me. If there is going to be small-minded gossiping no matter what I do, I would rather swim and sun bake, thank you very much."

Gary gaped. "You've been _swimming_?" 

"We _are_ at the beach."

"You mean…" Gary trailed off. Lianne had absolutely no doubts that he had seen the nightly beach-volleyball competition and had got an eyeful. 'That's it. You're coming home with me tomorrow."

"Since when have you been able to tell me what to do, _Sir_ Gareth?" Lianne was indignant. 

"Since your father and the Council sent me." He drew a slightly stained letter out of his belt-pouch and threw it on the table. 

Lianne took it slowly and read it carefully. 

"Either you decide to take him, Lianne, or you come home with me. Tomorrow." Gary said smugly. 

Lianne was just about to get off her chair and punch him when Kel silently reappeared, looming over Gary in a most intimidating unintimidating manner. "You must be tired from your journey, Sir Gareth," he said, every inch the gracious host. "I've had the bathhouse prepared for you, and Prederius will show you to your room afterwards." 

The two men left, presumably on their way to the bathhouse, leaving Lianne alone on the porch with the pitcher of iced tea with its rapidly melting ice, and the letter. Signed and sealed by the Council, it lay like an accusation on the polished wood. The message was clear, despite the flowery, formal language. Make up your mind. Marry Kelvar or some other rich and powerful Imperial aristocrat, or come home, where you'll spend the rest of your life bored out of your skull and playing additional nursemaid to all your brothers' children because no Eastern nobleman will marry you because you're a bad luck curse on husbands. To live in an alien world where she would never belong, or to be caged behind stone walls until she grew to accept them. A frightening world where nothing ever made sense, a world where she would forever be a stranger, or a world that she had known all her life, where there were people she loved and people she loved in return. 

What would she chose? How would she chose? 

How could she? 

Kel glided back in and sat soundlessly back on his chair. "Drink." He said quietly, placing a long glass in front of her. 

Lianne took a large gulp, and then coughed. "What's in it?" she asked, as her eyes watered. 

"Ice, vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry juice and pineapple juice." He said simply, then finished about half of his in single movement. 

Lianne looked at him with narrowed eyes. 

"Oh, this is just cranberry and pineapple juice," he said cheerfully, "but you looked like you needed something stronger. It's a bit of a specialty in these parts, anyway."   He paused. "Did I overdo the vodka?"

Lianne felt that there was just enough, all things considered. 

Gary did not look at all well when he came to the breakfast table. 

"I'm sorry to hear you were ill during the night, Sir Gareth," Kel said in a perfectly friendly voice. "The local water, perhaps. I'm told that some people need a few days to adjust."

Gary made a woeful attempt to be sociable before he sat down. 

Unlike the colder parts of the Empire, where enormous spreads of meat, porridge and bread were the norm, breakfasts near the seaside were almost reasonable. Lianne started with a few slices of pineapple and cantaloupe before moving on to berries with yogurt and honey, accompanied by cupfuls of the slightly bitter tea that was made from a shrub that was unique to the sandy, salty soil of Birodis.  

Gary did not seem to enjoy breakfast. He shifted in his seat and toyed with his food, before Kel helpfully ordered him some thin gruel, saying that it always made _him_ feel better when he had travel sickness. Even Gary seemed to be slightly ashamed at Kel's solicitousness, and even managed a halfway graceful thank you as Kel went and took the bowl from the servant personally and set it in front of Gary. 

It didn't seem to help, though, because although Gary managed to finish his breakfast and felt well enough to start to walk to the beach with them in a state somewhat approaching good grace, he soon complained of a stomach ache and had to be helped back to the house, where he made a utter mess of the bathhouse before going to bed with a high fever. 

"Poor Gary," Lianne felt guilty at having been so unwelcoming to Gary the night before. Gary was a pompous, tedious prig, but he was family, and he had come across half the world, through unfamiliar lands (even though Yevgen and Kalasin had provided him with letters of introduction and an escort, it was not an easy trip) to see her. 

Kel nodded. "He'll have to stay for some time." Kel observed, then seemed a little more reticent. "How long do you want him to stay?" he asked, seemingly innocuously. 

A sneaking suspicion grew in Lianne's mind. "A few weeks…" she replied warily. 

She really should not have been surprised when she overheard Kel's next aside. "Should have enough, then."

_Notes: The cocktail that Kel gave Lianne was, of course, 'Sex on the Beach'. The wine that Kel so kindly had fetched especially for Gary contained many things other than fermented grape juice, but among them powered hellebore root, a powerful purgative. There was some in his breakfast gruel, just to make sure. Gary will not be well for quite some time. Kel is a considerably less nice person than Yevgen (who is meant to be quite sweet, really). Lianne is being pretty smart to be wary about him.  _ 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

_Hello! I know it has been an unforgivably long time since my last update, but since then I've spent several month overseas and made my first foray into the scary world of adult responsibility (i.e., I finally have a real job). I hope that you're still around and that you're not bored of this tale yet. _

Gary was ill for the next two weeks. Kel helpfully brought in a stream of doctors, though they were more used to treating hangovers and drunken accidents than anything else, and prescribed nothing more than bed rest and liquids. Kel behaved like the perfect host, anxious to see his guest recover.

Lianne, of course, stayed in the room with Gary, and made sure that he didn't eat or drink anything that she hadn't prepared herself. Kel _meant_ well, she supposed, but she was rapidly becoming aware (if she wasn't before), that Kel's ethical and moral standards, though apparently perfectly ordinary by Imperial standards, weren't _exactly_ the same as the ones she was used to in Tortall. She wasn't _quite_ sure she wanted to know what Kel's limits were when it came to achieving the goals that he wanted.

She wasn't sure he had any.

Kel's sister had been quite right. There were some things that Lianne didn't want to know about him – but was that something she wanted in a husband? She was not so naïve to think that noblewomen in her position back in Tortall had anything even approaching a perfect time, but at least they would _know_ their suitors. Oh, not know every single intimate secret and amusing little quirk, but they could, at least, be reasonably certain of the _manner_ of man they married.

Lianne could never be sure what sort of person Kel, or any other utterly alien Imperial could be. Sometimes – most of the time – he was gracious, companionable…._civilized_. Then, just occasionally…she just didn't know. She wasn't stupid or naïve enough to think that his family…his _people_…had accumulated so much land and power by virtue of just getting it given to them by the gods.

If only because Kel wasn't even remotely religious. Lianne doubted if he believed in gods at all.

By the time Gary was feeling able to get out of bed, however, Kel had somehow managed to persuade him to stay for a while longer. It was something along the lines of how Gary had come all the way, and he should take a little time to enjoy himself, and, of course, Kel had some friends conveniently nearby who would be very pleased to meet him.

Very pretty, _female_ friends at that.

Lianne had absolutely no doubts that had Gary inclined the other way, or if the Council had sent one of her female cousins to collect her, or even someone not interested in being sociable at all, Kel would produce the appropriate distraction, so long as it did not cross the bounds of his considerably lax standards of decency – and he did have standards, Lianne admitted to herself, it was just that they were at the bare, obvious, minimum level.

He could probably provide the socially appropriate distraction in the middle of a desert, Lianne thought, somewhat savagely.

But Gary, who the entire family rather honestly admitted was not the sharpest sword on the rack, did possess the characteristic obstinacy and stubbornness of the clan, and, after a few days of meeting Sylvia and Morag and Ethelwyn and Veronique and Natalya, he was back to harangue her.

Sylvia and Morag and Ethelwyn and Veronique and Natalya had other concerns, of course. She had listened with rather more interest than she really should have. None were knights – Sylvia and Ethelwyn were students at the Imperial University, who were down at the seaside collecting data for a paper on venomous jellyfish (Lianne made a note to look at the water very carefully when she went swimming), Morag's parents owned one of the larger hotels where she worked in the kitchen as an assistant chef (Lianne had not been overly surprised, given the Imperial obsession with food, to discover that being a chef was quite a respectable vocation even for someone from a fairly wealthy family), and Veronique and Natalya were spoiled darlings of the kind she was familiar with. They were daughters of wealthy merchant families who were filling in time between their expensive educations and advantageous marriages with having fun. Oh, they were supposedly working for friends of their respective parents, organising large functions for some of the big hotels or something of that nature, but all knew that it was merely an excuse for them to enjoy themselves at the resort.

If anything, the presence of the silly girls (though they were certainly a little older than her) made Lianne feel a little more comfortable, rather than the reverse. Most of the women she had met so far in the Empire had been of the fearsomely competent sort, ambitious, driven, and quite unlike any of the women she knew – her mother and Lady Alanna excepted, of course. It was somehow oddly reassuring that there were brainless airheads in the Empire too, even though, unlike their Tortallan sisters, they had technical jobs.

However, she wasn't quite stupid enough to ask _how_ Kelvar knew them.

"I am quite, quite serious, Lianne," Gary said on one evening, when all of his new friends had found themselves dragged away. Jellyfish were spawning, and there were several large parties on. They had been invited, but Lianne had not wanted to go.

"About what?" she had lost the art of dissemblance among the Imperials. Either they were blatantly, bluntly honest, or you simply couldn't believe anything they were telling you.

"You know." Gary's voice was level, stubborn. "You've had long enough to decide whether you like it here or not. It's a huge scandal back home. There have already been six girls who have refused to make marriages and run off east for adventure."

"Good for them," Lianne replied.

"They were all either killed by bandits or dead of exposure within a week," Gary told her, quite harshly. "One of them was Oriane."

Oriane of Jadroth had been _Gary's_ fiancée. Lianne had never liked her.

"I'm sorry," she said, not feeling very sorry at all – though she rather thought she should. While a romantic part of her was overjoyed at the fact that noblewomen in Tortall were starting to make more of a stand for themselves and insisting on charting their own futures, that annoying practical, pragmatic side of her that had been too strongly influenced by the Empire thought that the women were simply stupid in undertaking such a task when it was clear that they had neither the training nor the capacity to do it. There was an insidious part of Lianne that said, very quietly, that if she was in such a situation again, she'd surreptitiously kill an unwelcome husband and settle down to enjoy widowhood again. She was becoming very Imperial. She wasn't sure whether that was a good thing.

"I hardly think that the choice is in my hands," she told her cousin loftily. "Kelvar hasn't said anything of the kind."

"I should hope not!" Gary's nostrils flared, making him look a bit like an ill-tempered horse, "you are a Queen – he is a mere knight, and without royal blood – that is why if you wish for him, it is for you to decide."

Clearly, Gary had not done adequate research. There was nothing 'mere' about Kel, not least his power or wealth. His pocket allowance, Lianne guessed, was probably in excess of the income of all but the greatest lords in the Eastern Lands – and as for royalty – had she not seen that Teleri Gavrillian was a Queen in everything but name – and a name that her ancestors had given up willingly, because it was, as Radanae put it, 'a pain in the posterior'?

Gary got sick again the next day. Lianne felt that she was truly becoming very Imperial.

"I don't know what to do," Lianne told Kelvar a few days later when they were sitting on the beach.

There was a soft exhalation as Kel lay down in the warm sand. "Well," he began, his voice neutral, "if none of this was going on, if you could do anything you wished, what would you do?"

Lianne had to think. What would she do? She had enjoyed the months of traveling, true, but she was no rootless wanderer, to go where the wind took her.

"I'd have a house," she said, slowly, "a house in the woods, near a stream. I'd be there every winter, and I'd write – not poetry or improving pamphlets like ladies are supposed to do, but books about traveling and far-off lands – lands I'd visit the other three seasons."

"That sounds lovely," Kel's deep voice was soft and sincere.

_He's never had a chance to think about what he'd really want, either_, Lianne realized. _His family would probably have had him killed if he hadn't been able to enter the Academy, and once he was in…well, why would he leave without good reason, given how many privileges knights have…and since he's been a knight, he's been bound by oaths that he won't and can't break…and that's been the price for all of us…he thinks it's worth it…do I? _

"What about you?" Lianne dared to ask.

"Me?" Kel sat up. He appeared to be thinking very hard. "I'd prefer to have a chalet up in the mountains, myself." He said, eventually. He met her eyes. "I hope you're not using more than a pinch of the hellebore a day for Gary," he changed the subject to more practical matters. "If you use more than that, or use it for more than a fortnight straight, you have…problems."

"Problems?" Lianne didn't even bother to wonder how Kel knew.

"It lowers the blood pressure," Kel explained, "in sufficient quantities it's enough to kill." His mouth tightened to a thin line.

"You know someone who's died of it," Lianne breathed, thinking how glad she was that she had been very sparing in the dose, and that Kel had realized what she was doing in only a few days.

"No, he didn't," Kel shook his head, "but he came close."

"Do I know him?"

"I should hope so. He's your brother-in-law."

"_Yevgen_?"

"Do you have any others? They were using it to treat the opium addiction and overdosed that too." There was a note in his voice that Lianne couldn't quite identify.

"Opium addiction?" Lianne's voice spiraled upwards. Radanae had hinted something of the sort, but she had never imagined it.

"Well, yes," Kel frowned slightly, "it's not so unusual after major injuries, when the healers have been a little too conscious of alleviating pain and so overdoing the pain killers. Or perhaps it was morphia. One or the other – they're practically the same thing anyway."

"No, they're not." The part of Lianne that had healing training felt compelled to object.

"They taste the same." Kel shrugged, remembering. Lianne saw him shudder slightly, and quite firmly told herself not to wonder just _how_ he knew that.

She thought, quite crossly, that she was getting rather good at not thinking about certain aspects of Kel.

"What does me wanting a house in the woods have to do with anything?" Lianne said crossly, as much to change the very unwelcome subject as anything else, "it's not as if I'd be able to just wander around if I took either suggestion. I'm not silly enough to think that I'd be able to go larking about wherever I like and do whatever I like."

Kel made a sound like muffled laughter. "You'd be surprised. You've basically described my sister-in-law's life, except that she prefers to spend her down time near civilization. Selera goes a little funny if she's away from her cobbler for too long."

Lianne gave him a look of skepticism. "I thought she was a diplomat."

"She is," Kel smiled, "but can you imagine sending Selera anywhere she doesn't want to go? Selera would rather slow down her promotions than go anywhere that doesn't have indoor plumbing."

"How can she do that? I thought that she was bound by oaths, like you."

Kel's amusement turned into a full-blown laugh, a wonderfully reassuring sound. "We all are – but there's matters of practicalities and politics. Rislyn – and everyone else who makes decisions – knows it's counterproductive to force someone to do something they don't want to, especially if they're like Selera. There are hundreds of diplomats who jump at any opportunity – Rislyn doesn't need to ask my finicky sister-in-law to do anything she won't be suited for. Selera knows that she's holding back her own career – and she'll be using the time to have children – she's not like Radanae, who'll bash a peace treaty between snakes and mongooses in a midge-infested swamp if it means that she'll finally get a corner office with a view."

The point about children made Lianne curious. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Children."

Kel's eyebrows went up. "Pretty much the same way Tortallans do it, I think. Given the possibilities of cultural misunderstandings, I didn't take the opportunity to make a personal study of it while I was there."

"No, not that," Lianne said crossly, hiding her mingled pleasure and relief that he hadn't taken the opportunity to enjoy himself with any of the court ladies – given the more relaxed attitudes of the Imperials, she had never been quite certain "I mean, how do female knights manage to have children, and still be, well, knights…I'm sure that it's quite awkward on a physical side."

"I imagine it would be," Kel said in his slightly dry way, "but there are several ways that make it…easier…I suppose, than it would be for Tortallan female knights. Firstly, we don't have children as young as Tortallan nobles do. Twenty-five is about the minimum, if only because many of us don't even stop growing before then. I haven't stopped yet." He grinned as he met her startled look. "Whelp late, grow slow, die young. We're quite a poorly designed species. Any respectable breeder should have got rid of us long ago. We also have fairly small families, by Tortallan standards – four is about as large as you'll see – and, moreover, the children tend to be fairly close together." Then he shrugged, "and if the father is a knight, he's generally expected to take a leave of absence, or light garrison duty in one of the larger towns at the very most, while the children are young, so there's not very much difference in the end."

"_If_?"

Kel laughed again. "Don't be so scandalized. You know we try to avoid inbreeding, and there's only so many Houses around. Plenty of us choose to have children with non-knights – it makes things so much easier if you can dump any underaged brats with the in-laws if you're going off to war without worrying that the aunts and uncles might have to go too."

Lianne frowned at Kelvar's failure to mention grandparents – then realized that given the short lifespans and late childbearing of the Imperial nobles, very few of them would know their grandparents or their grandchildren. For some reason, that made her quite unbearably sad – she had never known hers, after all, and had always envied Gary and his brothers his closeness to Great-Uncle Gareth. For that matter, Kel's flippant reference to children made her feel a trifle uneasy. She had seen that among the knights, at least, there didn't appear to be a great deal of attachment between parents and children and vice versa. Close family feelings seemed to be confined to siblings or cousins of a similar age. Lianne had seen that the Gavrillians were unusually friendly for a noble family, and at that the parents had been rather quick in pushing their chicks out of the nest. It seemed that the royal family set the standard, and it was getting pretty obvious, from both Kel's hints and all the little rumours that she'd heard in the years since Kalasin had married Yevgen, that the Delmarans weren't averse to murdering each other if it suited them. If what she had overheard was true, it was considered slightly remarkable that all three of the Empress Vanaria's children had made it to their majority, even if, in Yevgen's case, it was a very close call.

Was that to be the fate of any children she had, if she chose to marry an Imperial nobleman – and, for that matter, if any nobleman chose her?

_Note: As far as religious beliefs go, most knights are agnostics, of the 'don't know, don't care' persuasion, but they would pay lip service to appropriate deities in the appropriate situations – call it the 'any excuse to have a party' theory. They would probably be atheists if they thought the subject was important enough to warrant deep and meaningful consideration, but they don't – which does give them some peculiar blind spots, such as an abiding inability to believe in concepts like evil, fate, divine intervention, etc, etc, etc. _

_The effects of hellebore were somewhat inspired by a documentary I vaguely remember watching about Alexander the Great. One of the theories is that he died of an overdose of hellebore administered by his doctors. _


End file.
